Complications
by damnedscribblingwoman
Summary: He regarded her in silence for a few seconds. He had not known where they stood after coming back from summer break, but they had quickly fallen back into their old pattern of making out in secluded areas of the castle whenever they could find the time. He had no doubt - and he knew she didn't either - that it was a bad habit, but it was a bad habit that he had grown rather fond of
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

"We are not doing this again." Those were the first words out of her mouth as soon as she entered the room. Draco sniggered.

"That's rather inconsistent of you, considering you went to the trouble of finding this room just for this purpose."

It was a small storage room in one of the castle's many towers, cluttered with half-broken junk discarded by generations of Hogwarts students. Going by the amount of dust and cobwebs, even the house elves didn't come up here.

"I'll have you know," she interjected, "that I found this room for the express purpose of telling you in private, as clearly as possible, that you and I are done."

"Why?" he asked simply. He wasn't worried. Not yet. Draco Malfoy did not worry before he had to, and he wasn't there yet.

Really.

"What do you mean 'why'; do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

"Let's say I do."

"You and I don't even like each other," she said exasperated. "We have nothing in common. You loathe my friends; I despise everything you stand for."

"Never stopped us before." Draco made to brush a rebel curl away from her face, but Hermione waved his hand aside.

"It should have. It stops now."

He regarded her in silence for a few seconds. He had not known where they stood after coming back from summer break, but they had quickly fallen back into their old pattern of making out in secluded areas of the castle whenever they could find the time. He had no doubt — and he knew she didn't either — that it was a bad habit, but it was a bad habit that he had grown rather fond of, and he was not prepared to part with it just yet.

"Is this about Umbridge?" he asked finally. When Hermione didn't reply, Draco pressed on. "How am I to blame for that pink bat? I happen to like Defense Against the Dark Arts, I would rather it were taught by a competent teacher."

"As long as that teacher is not a werewolf," she couldn't help but point out.

"What can I say, I'm more of a cat person," he joked, grabbing her hand.

"You're not funny, Draco."

"Come on, I'm a little funny." He leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on her lips. The boy could see she was upset, he just wasn't sure how he could make it better. Hermione drew closer to him with a sigh, still avoiding his eyes.

"You know," he said, "of all the things that could be an issue between us — and I mean, like the Dark Lord or the impending clash between the conflicting forces in this messed up life of ours — mid-level management with atrocious fashion sense was not on my list of worries."

She smiled at that. "You have a list of worries?"

"Yes, it's a very long list. Nargles are at the very top of it."

The knot in his stomach eased a little when she laughed. He couldn't stand to see her upset. He couldn't stand that one day he wouldn't be able to fix it. It was always a relief to know he had earned one day more of whatever that thing between them was.

"Nargles, huh?" She looked up at him, a smile on her very tempting lips.

"What, I read The Quibbler! Just don't tell anyone, it would utterly ruin my reputation."

"I dare say that's the least I could say that would utterly ruin your reputation."

"I dare say you're right." Draco wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling Hermione to him and stopping that train of thought the only way he knew how. She kissed him back, some of the tension leaving her body as she relaxed into him. Why couldn't life be that simple?

He bit her lip playfully. "So, how safe is this room, exactly?" he asked in between kisses.

"Why do you ask?" The way she pressed harder against him suggested she knew exactly why he was asking.

"Call it curiosity." He started unbuttoning her shirt, slowly kissing and biting her neck as he did.

"It's untraceable. If someone was trying to track us down they wouldn't find us in here. It's also enchanted so only you or I can open the door. I used every protective spell I could think of."

"Smart girls are the sexiest girls," he grinned, pulling her towards the old battered sofa in the corner.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm all that smart." Hermione pushed him down on the sofa, sitting on his lap, one leg on each side of him. Draco cupped her face with his hands, breaking away from the kiss. She raised an eyebrow, surprised. Her face was slightly flustered and her hair looked even wilder than usual. She looked beautiful.

"Helen Appleberry," he said.

"What?"

"Do you know who Helen Appleberry is?"

He could almost hear the gears turning inside her head, trying to make sense of the seemingly random question.

"She was a famous potion maker," Hermione said finally. "Appleberry wrote on the many applications of wolfsbane and discovered how to properly brew white baneberries so that they could be used in potions without poisoning the drinker."

"10 points for Gryffindor." His mimicry of Snape's monotone earned him a chuckle. "Helen Appleberry was really smart. And it didn't matter that she was involved with some dodgy wizard who turned out to be a body snatcher and it was this big scandal, because she went on to research wolfsbane and found a way to depoison perfectly good poisonous berries. She was really smart. So are you, even if you have terrible taste in guys."

Hermione smiled, bringing her forehead to rest against his. "I happen to think I have extremely good taste in guys."

He could still feel the smile on her lips when she kissed him again, and for the next hour they both managed to forget that life was infinitely more complicated outside of that cluttered tower room.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fragaria ananassa." The Fat Lady swung back, waving Hermione through with a handful of strawberries on one hand and a big round half empty bowl on the other.

The common room was empty but for a couple of first years giggling conspiratorially over a very old and battered book, which they quickly tried to conceal upon realizing who she was. Hermione ignored them, heading straight for the dormitory. Between DA meetings and the time spent with Draco, she was woefully behind on her school work. There were OWLs to prepare for and she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that at this rate she would never achieve more than average marks on most of her subjects.

And Hermione Granger did not do average.

Harry and Ron had tried to plead, bribe and threaten her to join them for a day at Hogsmeade, but Hermione had refused to be swayed, tempted or cowered, and had stayed behind. There was a study session ahead and neither the possibility of a free day with her friends nor the prospect of foiling the mischievous plans of first years was going to get in the way of that.

Hermione was half way up the stairs to her room when she came to a halt. This was going to bother her.

A small detour on her way to ten Outstandings couldn't possibly hurt.

The determined prefect marched back downstairs, stopping just short of the absorbed duo.

"Hand it over," she said with an outstretched hand.

One of the students, a small brunette whose name Hermione didn't know, turned ten different shades of red, while her friend tried rather ineffectively to hide the book under the rolls of parchment left around the table. Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed her wand in the general direction of the book.

"Accio _Wizarding Cookbook_." The book flew from under its poor excuse of a hiding place straight to her hand.

"Oi, you can't take that," said the boy, jumping to his feet.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I can." She eyed the volume in her hand as she walked away, ignoring the complaints of the young Gryffindor. _The Wizarding Cookbook_ was a somewhat old-fashioned book from the 70s which contained instructions that ranged from actual recipes — such as home-made every flavour beans — to ways to magically blow up a house.

Granted, many of the instructions didn't actually work and the average student had a better chance of becoming a member of the Weird Sisters than they did of managing to follow some of the most complicated and dangerous recipes in that dilapidated tome, but it was still not something that should be carried around by over-enthusiastic eleven year olds.

Also, it was banned ten times over.

She set _The Wizarding Cookbook_ on the bed, looking around for the book she had actually come to get. She could've sworn she had taken her Potions book to the library with her, but a search of both her bag and her immediate surroundings had proven fruitless, so here she was, back in the dormitory, emptying half her trunk looking for the elusive tome.

Suddenly there was a loud crack followed by the frantic squeaky sounds of Dobby trying to disentangle himself from the discarded nightgown he had landed on.

"Dobby has seen nothing, Hermione Granger," he squeaked, his hands covering his eyes, still trying to shake off the garment by jumping and kicking at the same time. "Dobby has seen nothing at all, no, no no."

"It's okay, Dobby. I'm dressed, you can open your eyes."

The house-elf stopped bouncing around and carefully peeked between his fingers. Having satisfied himself that Hermione was indeed fully clothed, Dobby let his hands fall to his side and smiled at the young witch.

"Hello, Miss Granger."

"Hi Dobby, how are you?"

Tears immediately filled the house-elf's eyes. "Such a generous, magnanimous witch, to ask after Dobby's welfare. Hermione Granger is truly a most kind person, which is only to be expected from a friend of Harry Potter."

"Are you looking for Harry?"

"No, Miss Granger, Dobby is here on a most delicate mission." He had uncovered his head and was now fidgeting with the bright-pink woolen hat, twisting it in his hands without looking directly at Hermione.

"What is it?" she asked finally.

"Draco Malfoy is a very naughty boy," he blurted out, immediately reaching for _The Wizarding Cookbook_ and starting to hit himself over the head with it

"Dobby, don't." Hermione took the book away, alarmed both by the elf's violent reaction and by the mention of Draco.

"Thank you, Miss Granger." Dobby picked up his fallen hat, still shaking slightly, but seeming to take comfort in the feeling of wool between his fingers.

"Why do you think you need to warn me about Malfoy?"

Dobby made a point of not looking directly at Hermione, suddenly seeming to find the discolored blue carpet extremely fascinating.

"Dobby knows that Miss Granger has been, erm, cavorting, with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's cheeks felt hot and she knew she was blushing almost as hard as Dobby.

"How do you know about that?"

"Winky likes to hide in the East Tower when she's feeling unwell." If possible, Dobby turned even redder at that. "She told Dobby about seeing Hermione Granger and the boy Malfoy together. At first Dobby thought it was the drink, so he went with Winky one day." The house-elf stopped talking, staring very intently at the carpet, his fingers pushing and pulling at the long-suffering woolen hat.

Hermione's heart was drumming in her ears.

"Have you told anyone, Dobby?" Her mind kept going through ways to fix this, but was coming up empty.

"No, Miss Granger, but it must stop. Draco Malfoy is a bad, bad boy." Dobby glanced at _The Wizarding Cookbook_ but did not reach for it, doubling the abuse on the pink hat, which was starting to resemble less a hat and more a collection of very pink, very frayed woolen strips. "Harry Potter would not like this, Harry Potter would not like this one bit."

"It is none of Harry's concern who I see or do not see."

Looking more than a little terrified to be arguing with a witch, Dobby pressed on. "If Hermione Granger did not think it was wrong, she would not hide it from Harry Potter."

She could not argue the point. She did not think it was wrong, not really. But it was more than a little complicated for everyone involved and she knew the moment it came out, all hell would break lose. And despite her statements to the contrary, she didn't want it to be over just yet.

"Will you tell Harry?"

"Dobby thinks Hermione Granger should tell Harry Potter." Following that up with the warning that if she wouldn't he would, felt too much like threatening a witch for Dobby to vocalize, but the truth of it weighed heavily between them nonetheless.

Hermione sighed. "I will tell him, Dobby, I promise. I just need to find the right moment."

"Thank you, Miss Granger." Dobby carefully balanced the remains of the once perfectly round hat on his head and disappeared with a muffled _pop_.

* * *

There was a DA meeting that evening, and Slytherin had Quidditch practice the next day, so Hermione wasn't due to meet Draco until Monday evening, which given her current predicament, was more than she cared to wait. She cursed at herself for the tenth time for not creating a set of enchanted Galleons for the two of them, but she hadn't been able to shake the feeling of disloyalty when she considered it.

Speaking of the devil.

Draco was at the other end of the corridor, walking towards her flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who always reminded her of a set of oversized gargoyles.

Hermione kept walking without looking at Draco, quickly moving her prefect badge from one side of her lapel to the other. As secret signals went, it wasn't exactly high tech, but there was something to be said for simplicity.

They passed each other by without a word and she wondered whether Draco had spotted the badge. She did not have long to wonder. Hermione hadn't walked two paces before a hand grabbed her arm, whirling her around and dragging her unceremoniously into an empty classroom.

"Gentlemen, guard the door." Crabbe and Goyle smirked as they stood outside the room, assuming an air of unstudied casualness, which mostly made Crabbe look constipated and gave Goyle a vacant expression, as if he wasn't all there — a remarkable feat for someone who never appeared very bright to begin with.

"Have you graduated from bullying first years, Malfoy?" Hermione said loud enough to be overheard by the inflated duo. "We need to talk," she said in a lower tone. "Tonight at 11." Draco raised an eyebrow at her raised wand. Hermione shrugged, putting it down. Reaching for her wand was her Pavlovian response to being dragged into an empty classroom by a bunch of Slytherins, even if one of them happened to be Draco.

"Did you misplace your sidekicks, Granger? Or is Weasley whimpering in a corner somewhere, melting into a pool of weeping misery over the upcoming match?" In a lower voice he added, "Too late. 9 o'clock?" Hermione shook her head. She couldn't miss the DA meeting.

"Are Slytherin players so useless that you need to intimidate the opposing team to win?"

"Oh, we don't do it to win. We do it because it's fun." His grin was at once boyish, shameless and infuriating, and Hermione did the only thing she could under the circumstances. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"11 o'clock," he whispered. "If we get caught, I'm claiming you bewitched me." He nudged her hand with his.

"Draco, you shouldn't be greedy." Hermione recognized the snotty tone straight away. Without missing a beat, Draco turned towards the newcomer, a predatory smile on his face.

"Pansy, I seem to have found a stray cub."

"So I see." Even when smiling, Pansy could never quite escape her unfortunate resemblance to a pug. Crabbe and Goyle had followed her inside, apparently deciding it was bound to be more entertaining than guard duty. "You know Granger, you shouldn't wander the halls alone; Hogwarts can be a dangerous place if you're not careful."

Hermione forced herself to relax the grip on her wand, her mind running through the defensive spells she knew. "I'm not afraid of snakes, Parkinson."

"That's hardly a sensible stand." Pansy raised her wand, quickly followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Draco slowly reached inside his robes for his, a fact Hermione found less than comforting.

"Ravens hunt snakes," a soft voice offered in a helpful tone. Everyone turned to find Luna standing at the door. She waved politely at the four Slytherins and at Hermione. "Colin Creevey went to get Professor McGonagall. He seemed to be under the impression that something untoward was happening here." Luna glanced at the raised wands with a curious expression.

Draco pointed his wand at Hermione's throat, slightly lifting her chin. "We'll have to finish this some other time, Granger. Let's go." He nodded at his fellow Slytherins, who followed him out of the room.

Hermione lowered her own wand, her heart racing in her chest. "Thank you, Luna."

"Don't mention it." The blond witch shrugged. "Pansy didn't look overly friendly when she walked in."

"When does she ever?"

"Precisely."

Both girls walked out together, heading for the Great Hall.

"You know, Luna," Hermione started,"ravens don't really hunt snakes."

"Oh, I know that," she said with a somewhat smug smile that suggested that some ravens did.

* * *

"I am going to kill that conniving vermin if it's the last thing I do." Draco had been pacing back and forth in the small tower room for the better part of half an hour. Hermione had at first thought it best to let him rant at will so he could get it all out of his system, but this was getting ridiculous.

"No, you won't," she said at last, patience finally run out.

"Yes, I will. I can. I know people who know people and that upstart little weasel will learn not to mess with his betters."

"Draco, that's enough." Hermione jumped to her feet, grabbing his hands so he would stay still. All that pacing was driving her to distraction. "Stay away from Dobby."

He glowered at her, all of him barely contained rage and sullen petulance. Just then, he looked remarkably like his father.

His expression softened as she cupped his face with her hands. He leaned his forehead against hers with a sigh, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"I have to tell Harry," she said.

And just like that, he let go.

"Oh yes, I can see that working just great. Brilliant plan there, Granger. Really, outstanding."

"Careful, Draco," she warned. There were just so many displays of temper she was willing to put up with for a day.

"Come on, even you don't think telling Potter is a good idea. He hates me. He'll completely lose it when he hears about this. And before you know it, it will be all over the school."

"Oh yes, and God forbid anyone should know the big Draco Malfoy has been fooling around with a Mudblood."

"Right, because your friends will be delighted with the news," Draco said. "Hermione Granger and a Slytherin. Not just any Slytherin either, Lucius Malfoy's son. It will be a joyous occasion in Gryffindor Tower."

They glared at each other.

"I think this conversation is over," Hermione said.

"Couldn't agree more."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Being closer to the exit, he was the first one out the door, but Hermione followed close behind, too angry to be cautious. The castle was empty and dark, shadows dancing on the walls near the occasional torch. Hermione kept catching a glimpse of Draco's form up ahead, just to lose him right after to a corner or dark spot.

She was too mad for words. If that spoiled, arrogant ass thought he could talk to her like that, he had another thing coming. It should teach her to get involved with a Slytherin. Of all the dumb stupid decisions she had ever made, that had to be pretty close to the top. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that after turning a corner, she almost bumped into the two men standing just outside the circle of light cast by the only lonely torch in that corridor.

"Well, well, well, Miss Granger, what an extraordinary coincidence." Professor Snape looked from a crestfallen Draco to her and then back to Draco. "Well, I think we had better take this little soiree to my office. After you two."

Hermione sighed. This day had no end.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape's office, never particularly bright even during the day, looked positively gloomy at night. Most of the light came from the fire burning on the fireplace, which cast dark shadows over the shelves that lined the walls. These were filled with jars of various sizes, an eclectic collection of slimy ingredients and colourful potions.

Snape waved his wand wordlessly and two chairs flew across the room, stopping short of the desk.

"Sit," he ordered, moving towards his own leather armchair. "Let me warn you that I have neither the time nor the inclination to humour lies. What were you two doing out of bed at this time of night? Miss Granger?"

Draco knew that was a trick. By asking Hermione directly, Snape was ensuring she would be the one caught on a lie instead of him. Normally Draco admired the deftness with which Professor Snape deflected blame away from his own House, but on this occasion it only made him wish they had been caught by a different teacher.

"We were on patrol duty tonight, sir," Hermione replied, her voice steady and calm. "A staircase moved, so we had to take the long route around, which made us late getting back to our dormitories."

As excuses went, it was not a bad one. They were both prefects, so patrolling the corridors was part of their duties. And it was Hogwarts, so staircases could and often did move at the most inconvenient of times. Snape, however, did not seem to appreciate the elegant simplicity of the lie.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for being caught breaking curfew, Miss Granger." He paused before adding: "And fifty from Slytherin for the same reason, Mr Malfoy. And a further thirty points from Gryffindor for the worst attempt at a lie that has ever polluted the walls of this office." Hermione's eyes shot daggers at Snape, but she remained silent.

"Miss Granger, I imagine you are aware that the Heads of Houses are in charge of the prefect rotation schedule. Slytherin and Gryffindor prefects are never paired together. Professor McGonagall and I feel that it's in everyone's best interest to keep the bodily injuries to a minimum. You're both getting detention for a week, I expect to see you tomorrow at eight."

"Professor, I have Quidditch practice," Draco said. "The match with Gryffindor is coming up." He might wish they had been caught by a different teacher, but that would not stop him from trying to take advantage of the present situation.

"Very well, Mr Malfoy. On the days when you have practice, Miss Granger will have detention for an extra hour to make up for your absence." Hermione dug her nails into the arms of the chair, but did not argue. "Miss Granger, you're dismissed. Mr Malfoy, I am not done with you."

As soon as Hermione was out of the room, Snape resumed his lecture: "Draco, that is either the stupidest thing I have ever seen you do, or the smartest. Which is it?"

"Professor?"

"Potter's little friend is privy to many secrets that would be of use to your father and the master he serves."

Draco did not reply. When he looked at Hermione, he did not see secrets and advantages, he just saw her. At the beginning he might have spent some time imagining the look on Potter's face should he ever discover the exact nature of some of Hermione's extracurricular activities, but somewhere along the line it had changed into something else. Something precious. And part of him was insulted by Snape's insinuation.

Some of this must have transpired in his face, because Snape sneered.

"You're a fool Draco. Falling for a Mudblood — and that one in particular. But if you're too much of a simpleton to take advantage of it, at least make sure you're not being outsmarted by a Gryffindor. Now get out of my office."

* * *

The following day, when Hermione got to the Gryffindor table at lunchtime, Ron looked as if he had tasted something foul and was trying to drown its taste in mashed potatoes and gravy. Harry and the twins kept casting sympathetic glances his way.

"How was practice?" she asked, sitting down next to Ginny. Harry shot her a warning look, but it was too late. Ron groaned, got up still holding a chicken wing, and left to leave. Half the students at the Slytherin table started cheering when he passed them on his way out.

"What happened?"

"There was something of a crowd watching us practice this morning," Harry replied moodily, attacking the bird on his plate with a brooding look that suggested he rather wished the bird was wearing a striped green scarf and wizard robes.

"It was miserable," said Fred. "They'd start hissing and booing any time the Quaffle got near him. He didn't keep a single one."

"He almost fell off the broom at one point," added George, shaking his head.

"If you ask me, he's far too sensitive about it," said Ginny. "Oh, don't give me that look, Harry. There will be Slytherins at the actual match. What's he gonna do? Fall apart every time they say something nasty?"

"He just has confidence issues, he actually is a really good keeper when he's focused," Harry said loyally.

"Yes, and if you could murder every single Slytherin and a few students from other Houses before the game, that might actually count for something."

"I think there's something to be said for that idea, wouldn't you agree George?" Fred gave his twin a conspiratorial look.

"We could poison the whole lot of them, I suppose."

"Poison just him. It would be a kindness. The way he's playing, he'll just embarrass himself."

Everyone stared at Draco, who was standing behind Ginny. The twins and Harry jumped to their feet, but Draco ignored them. He looked down at Hermione.

"You. A word." And with that he turned around and started making his way to the door. For a full minute, Hermione was too stunned to move, but eventually she got to her feet and followed him out of the Great Hall, ignoring her friends' questions.

Draco led her through a number of corridors and into an empty classroom. Once they were inside, he closed the door, locking it with a wave of his wand.

"What was so important that couldn't wait?" Hermione asked with a frown. She was still mad at him on account of the argument the night before.

Without replying, Draco pushed her against the closed door. "Has it ever occurred to you that we argue too much?" Not waiting for a reply, he leaned forward, kissing her.

She wanted to argue. She had plenty to say about the night before. About their argument and how he'd stuck her with detention for the both of them. She knew the words she wanted to say but somehow just then she couldn't think of any of them. Her brain was full with the way his body felt against hers and the rather interesting things his tongue was doing.

The smartest witch of her age and she couldn't help her legs turning to jelly when he was this close.

When they finally broke away, there was a reluctant smile on her lips.

"Well, if that's why you dragged me away from the Great Hall, I can't say I disapprove."

He smiled back at her, brushing a curl from her face. "I was kind of an ass last night."

"I kind of noticed that, yeah."

"Forgive me?" No one could ever accuse Draco Malfoy of making puppy dog eyes, but just then his expression came pretty close.

"Don't think I've forgotten about detention," she said, immediately disproving her words with another kiss. Saying sorry was easy, but she knew the real apology had involved walking up to her in the middle of the crowded Great Hall. Draco Malfoy did not bend easily, and she appreciated that he had.

"Well, it was your fault we got caught, when you really think about it."

"How do you figure that?"

"We met that late because you couldn't meet earlier. What were you doing, anyway?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." There was nothing but troubles down that path and Hermione was eager to return to more pleasant activities.

"Well, hold on," Draco said, pulling away with a look of mock indignation. "You can't distract me with your feminine wiles, woman. I'm not your boy toy. Spending time with your other boyfriend, were you?"

"Boyfriend, is it?" She grabbed his tie, pulling him back to her.

"Or whatever." Draco wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him, puppy dog eyes changed into a smile far sweeter than his usual sarcastic grin. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, at the curious discrepancy between the Draco Malfoy who never said anything that wasn't biting or snide, and the Draco Malfoy whose arms felt comforting and warm.

"I still have to tell Harry," she said, afraid of starting another fight but unable to just ignore the issue. Draco, however, only shrugged.

"Yeah, I figured. Go ahead, I'm fine with it."

"You do realise I wasn't asking for permission, merely informing you, right?"

"You know, this right here is the real reason we get along, you are even more combative than I am."

"I am not combative!"

"Yeah, love, you are." Suddenly realising what he had said, Draco turned a deep shade of red, so unusual a reaction for him that Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Oh shut up," he said, biting her lip playfully as he kissed her.

* * *

The library was almost deserted. Sunny Sundays made for poor studying days, but Hermione was not surprised to find Harry bent over a pile of books. She knew all too well how behind he was on his work.

"Where is Ron?" she asked, setting her bag on the table.

"Hiding under a rock somewhere, probably. Those idiots this morning really did a number on him. Speaking of which. What did Malfoy want?"

"Yeah, about that, we need to talk."

Harry put down his quill, looking at her expectantly. "Not here," Hermione said. "Let's go for a walk." She knew the likely reaction to what she had to say would probably involve a good amount of yelling, and she highly doubted that would endear them to Madam Pince. On top of that, while she had no choice but to tell Harry, she would still prefer not to let the story go any further than it had to.

They walked away from the castle, towards the lake. It was a pleasant day — sunny but not too hot — a day which did not lend itself to dramatic outbursts, but scenery was not usually a consideration when such outbursts occurred.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Harry was the first to break the silence.

Hermione hesitated only for half a second. When there was an unpleasant task to be done, the thing to do was just to get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid.

"I'm seeing Draco Malfoy," she said, looking straight at Harry. The wizard stared at her for a few moments with a blank expression, as if he didn't fully comprehend what he had just heard.

"What do you mean, you're seeing Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked at last.

"Oh, Harry, you know perfectly well what I mean." Hermione could feel herself blushing, which did nothing but annoy her. She had no reason to feel embarrassed, she had done nothing wrong.

"Draco Malfoy? Would this be the same Malfoy who has hated us since first year? The same Malfoy you punched two years ago because he called you a Mudblood?" There was the yelling. "Draco Malfoy who may not be sporting a dark mark on his arm just yet but I'll bet you he'll be wearing one within the year? That Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione willed her face to remain calm. "Well, I'm glad you're taking this so well."

"Are you barking mad?" he yelled. "What were you thinking getting involved with a scumbag like that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Had I but known I needed you to vet the guys I'm interested in."

"He's a freaking Malfoy. His dad is a Death Eater. The only thing Malfoy likes better than to carry on about how influential and important his father is, is to pick on anyone who's weaker than himself just to feel powerful."

"He is not so bad as people think."

"He is not so… Are you listening to yourself? This year alone he's been spreading all those ridiculous rumours about me, and he's been making Ron's life miserable. Did you even think about that when you got involved with that creep?"

That struck more than one chord. Her relationship with Draco was not entirely guilt-free, but she was sick and tired of feeling constrained by the things other people expected of her.

"Well, contrary to popular belief, not everything in my life is about you two." And with that she stormed off, not bothering to wipe off her tears until she was far enough that she could do it without him telling she was crying.


	4. Chapter 4

"What does this one do?" Ron asked, picking up a purple kidney-shaped piece of candy from the bag Fred was holding.

"Makes your head grow to three times its size," said George. "Perfectly harmless, thoroughly tested."

Ron turned the sweet over with a suspicious look.

"You," he called to a startled first year. "Eat this."

"Don't let Hermione see you do that," Fred said. As if on cue, Hermione chose that very moment to enter the Gryffindor common room, but despite casting a quick glance at them — and almost certainly spotting Fred's hurried attempts to hide all the incriminatory evidence — she ignored the group, sitting down alone by the window on the far corner of the room.

"What is wrong with that one?" asked Ron with a frown.

Harry looked up from his copy of_ Intermediate Transfiguration_. Hermione was busy emptying the contents of her bag haphazardly on the table, making a point of not looking their way while she did it.

"We sort of had an argument," he said.

"What about?"

Harry shrugged. He couldn't tell the truth and he didn't want to lie, so he said nothing, pretending to go back to his book. His friends were having none of it, however.

"What did you do?" asked Fred.

"Why do you assume I was the one who did anything?"

"Well, mate, we didn't want to say anything," started George. "But it has come to our attention that lately you've been a little tense."

"Stressed out," Fred said.

"Edgy."

"Well, hold on a moment," Ron tried to interrupt, but Fred cut him off.

"Sullen."

"Bleak."

"Morose."

"A right pain in the ass."

"Alright, alright, I get it." He knew he had been somewhat prickly lately, but he honestly did not think there was any version of him that could've taken the news about Malfoy more gracefully.

"Do you want me to go talk to her?" asked Ron.

"Our brother, the great diplomat," scoffed George.

"Nah, I'll go." Harry got up with a sigh, making his way across the room. "Can we talk?"

Hermione stopped pretending she was taking notes on a piece of parchment. She looked past Harry at the watchful Weasley brothers still sitting by the fire. "Not here." Harry followed her out of the common room and past the cranky portrait of the Fat Lady, who kept complaining about the comings and goings of students at all hours, and why couldn't they just stay put and stop bothering her.

Once they were out of earshot, silence settled between the two as they made their way through the busy corridors. Harry had no idea what he was supposed to say. That he was okay with it? He wasn't. That he thought she had better judgement than that? He did up until discovering she was snogging Malfoy behind everyone's backs.

Try as he might, he could not think of any way to express what was on his mind without coming across as a self-righteous ass. It certainly did not help that the twins' list of epithets kept running through his mind: tense, stressed out, edgy, sullen, bleak, morose.

A right pain in the ass.

He glanced at Hermione, who marched on as if ready for battle, with a determined expression and hands balled up into fists at her side.

He wasn't the only one who was stressed out.

Harry grabbed her hand in his, lacing his fingers with hers. Hermione looked at him, surprised, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

He smiled at her. "Race you." Without waiting, he started running, a brief tug on his arm all the hesitation she allowed herself before following him. Despite very nearly tumbling down a flight of stairs when a staircase suddenly started moving halfway through their descent, and almost running over — and very often into — a group of fellow students, they somehow managed to make their way safely into an empty hallway without loss of life or limb.

For a few seconds, all the sounds in that out-of-the-way corridor came from the half-suppressed giggles that were in no way helping them regain their breath. Harry felt tired but relaxed, all his pent-up hate for Malfoy brought down to a more manageable level. He sat down on the steps, next to Hermione, who no longer felt like someone he didn't know. All he had really needed was for something to bring him out of his brain long enough for the world to make sense again. He would've preferred to punch Malfoy for a bit of clarity, but a manic run across the castle had done the trick.

"I'm sorry I lost my tempter," he said and he meant it. Because he was more than the dark thoughts that clouded his mind these days and because she was his friend first and last.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she replied.

"How soon are we talking, anyway? How long have you two…?"

"Since the Yule Ball."

"The Yule Ball?" Harry could hear his voice getting louder again and struggled to keep his tone even. "That was almost a year ago. What about Viktor Krum?"

"There was never anything between me and Viktor Krum. You and Ron just assumed and I never contradicted it. Viktor and I had nothing in common."

"Unless Malfoy is secretly advocating for the rights of house-elves in his spare time, I really can't see what the two of you could possibly have in common either."

"People are more than just one thing, Harry. You are neither of you as much of an ass as the other likes to think."

Harry bit his tongue. He supposed he had deserved that. He had always thought that of the three of them, Ron was the one with a temper, but Hermione and himself were quickly putting that myth to rest.

"Listen, I'm just worried, alright?" he said with a sigh. "You'd also be worried if I suddenly came to you and told you I was going out with Pansy Parkinson." She smiled at that. "You were always the smart one, Hermione. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Hermione was quiet for a few seconds. When she finally replied, she didn't look directly at him. "Don't you think I know there is no way for this to end but badly? Things are coming, Harry. Bad things. And I know we'll all have to choose sides. Heavens, we've chosen sides as it is. There are things I can't tell him about, and I know there are things he doesn't tell me. But exactly because bad things are coming, we should all be able to enjoy the good things while we can." She paused for a second, before adding: "Though you should stay away from Pansy; that girl is vicious."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "Are we okay?" Hermione asked uncertain, looking him in the eye.

"Always," he replied, putting an arm over her shoulders. "What made you tell me, anyway?"

* * *

Despite permission to skip most of it, Draco ended up showing up for most detention sessions, to Snape's great disgust. The Potions Master disliked Hermione, liked Draco, and his feelings towards the whole situation could best be described as a mix of nausea and loathing. Despite that, he abstained from commenting, limiting his expressions of disapproval to the occasional eye roll.

As the Gryffindor-Slytherin match approached, the tension between both Houses grew to the point where it stopped being safe for players of either team to roam the halls alone. While a case could be made that Slytherins had been the initiators of the increasingly popular habit of jinxing players of the opposing team whenever possible, Gryffindors took that as justification to do likewise whenever the occasion presented itself.

Teachers for the most part stayed out of the way, considering that a little competition was nothing if not healthy. And really, boys would be boys.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape's relationship — chilly at the best of times — had turned glacial, and their colleagues had learnt to avoid the teacher's lounge when the Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin were in residence.

"Really, Minerva," Professor Sprout had been heard commenting, "you and Severus are almost as bad as the children. It's just a game, dear."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Pomona," was McGonagall's frosty reply.

The whole Gryffindor team was being targeted by Slytherins, but none so badly as Ron. They teased, harassed and bullied the Gryffindor Keeper mercilessly and it broke Hermione's heart to see her friend so utterly devastated by the Slytherin hate campaign.

Hermione and Draco tended to avoid topics that could only end in an argument, but even their practised tip-toeing around sensitive issues was wearing thin.

It all came to a head the night before the game, when an innocent comment about a Transfiguration assignment quickly escalated into something completely different.

"I am not responsible for the actions of every single Slytherin student, you know?" Draco's pale face was reflected on the glass pane of the single window of the small tower room.

"Right, and you're only an innocent bystander who is in no way involved in any of this."

"It's not my fault Weasley folds like a pack of cards any time someone so much as looks at him funny. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. At least Potter can hold his own."

"Ron lacks confidence, but he's a great Keeper."

"He can't Keep worth a damn when it counts; the reason why is irrelevant. And besides, everyone is on everyone's case about the match. Just today one of those damn Weasley twins made Goyle start sprouting twigs out of his ears, and you don't see him whimpering in corners."

"Goyle is a bully and a brute and I'm sure he had it coming."

"Right," Draco sneered. "When Slytherins do it, we're evil degenerates; when Gryffindors do it, you're knights for good and justice."

"That is not what I'm saying."

"What are you saying, exactly? And when did you become so concerned about Weasley's welfare?"

"He's my friend, of course I'm concerned."

"That's some pretty close friendship, for such a spirited defence."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Goyle and I are friends, you don't see me throwing a hissy fit just because your precious Weasleys picked on him."

"It is hardly the same."

"My point precisely."

"Now you're just being ridiculous and I'm sick and tired of this argument."

She turned to leave, but Draco grabbed her arm. "What, no wishing me luck for tomorrow?"

Hermione looked at the hand on her arm and then back at him. "I hope you lose. Now let go."

He scowled but let go of her arm without further arguing.

* * *

The whole day had been a succession of miserable events one after the other. It had started at breakfast, with those horrid "Weasley is our king" badges, and it had showed little improvement from there. The match itself had been painful to watch up until the moment Harry finally caught the Snitch, causing their entire side of the pitch to explode into cheers and applause. That had not lasted very long, however, and afterwards the atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower had grown sombre and subdued when they learnt that Harry and the twins had been banned from the team.

Hermione was glad to learn that Hagrid was back home, not only because she had missed the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, but also because it was the perfect thing to get Harry and Ron's mind out of the day's events. Unfortunately, Umbridge's sudden appearance at Hagrid's hut, as well as the former gamekeeper's bloodstained and battered appearance only served to create new concerns.

Hermione, Harry and Ron were making their way back to the castle under the invisibility cloak when Hermione suddenly realised there was a light shining in the tower room where she and Draco usually met.

The sensible thing to do was to go back to Gryffindor Tower and get into bed. It was late, they had barely escaped detection already, and she wouldn't be able to use the invisibility cloak to sneak out to the tower room — first, because after what had happened that morning, she was not about to ask Harry for the cloak to go and meet Draco; second, because the Slytherin prefect probably didn't know about the cloak, in which case she was not about to illuminate him as to its existence.

The sensible thing to do was to go back to Gryffindor Tower and get into bed, and Hermione Granger was nothing if not sensible. Most of the time, anyway. But it had been a terrible day and she was upset and worried, and much as Draco had his fair share of blame in the current state of affairs, there was a part of her that longed to feel his arms around her.

She cursed the ironic twist of fate that made her look upon Draco Malfoy as a comforting presence.

She waited until Harry and Ron had made their way into the boys' dormitory and then sneaked back out of the common room, which at that point was already empty.

Without an invisibility cloak or the Marauder's Map to guide her, Hermione took her time making her way across the castle, listening in at every turn, and once or twice diving into an empty classroom for cover when Filch or one of the teachers passed her on their rounds.

She was not the only student out of bed after hours. Two Ravenclaw second years almost had a panic attack when they unexpectedly ran into a Gryffindor prefect. Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have escorted them back to Professor Flitwick's office, but it was well past curfew even for a prefect. As such, she channelled George Weasley and gave them what she hoped passed for a conspiratorial wink and continued on her way.

When she finally reached the tower room, everything was quiet but for the soft snoring coming from the sofa in the corner. She closed the door behind her, careful not to wake up Draco. Sleep made him look younger and softened the sharp edges of his face. There was a purple bruise under his left eye, where Harry or Fred had hit him. Either Draco had not gone to the hospital wing or Madam Pomfrey had proved less than helpful.

She sat down at the edge of the sofa and softly traced the pattern of the bruise with her index finger. And then she pressed. Hard.

"Ouch," said Draco, startled awake. "That was unnecessary."

Hermione shrugged. "What is life without a little pain?"

"I take it you watched the game?"

"I did."

"We lost."

"Karma is funny like that."

"I got punched." He actually pouted then.

"Well, you deserved punching."

"Heartless woman, have you no pity?" He wrapped his right arm around her waist, edging closer to her.

"If you wanted someone to fuss over you, you should have stayed with Parkinson. What are you doing here, anyway? It's late."

"Well, I figured if you wanted to yell at me, the least I could do was be conveniently located." He motioned at his surroundings.

"And what possible cause could I have to yell at you? You only managed to get Harry and the twins banned from Quidditch. For life."

"In fairness, I had no way of knowing they'd be banned, I was aiming for detention."

"Cause that's so much better?" She made to move away, but Draco tightened his arm around her.

"Come on, everyone in that pitch knew I was goading them. Including Potter and including Weasley. They did not have to take the bait. The problem with Gryffindors is that you're all brawn and no brains. Present company excluded, of course."

"If that's your idea of an apology, you're terrible at it," she said.

"No doubt, but I have other finer qualities." He brushed his lips against her, a soft butterfly kiss.

"We can't settle every argument we have like this."

"Why not? There are fewer better ways." He kissed her again, harder, his left hand resting on the back of her head. Hermione leaned into him, Quidditch momentarily forgotten.

"I actually had an idea while I was waiting for you," Draco said. "How would you like to come spend some days at Malfoy Manor over the break?"

Hermione straightened up at that, staring at Draco with an incredulous expression. She doubted a Muggle-born had ever crossed Lucius Malfoy's threshold.

"What about your parents?" she asked.

"Europe. They're going away for the holidays. I'm supposed to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas this year."

She considered it for a few moments. There was a part of her that was more than a little curious to see the place where Draco had grown up. Malfoy Manor was, by all accounts, stunning. Mostly, however, she just took a wicked pleasure in the idea of someone like her wandering around Narcissa Malfoy's home, and at the outraged horror that would invoke, should either the Malfoys or the Blacks ever learn about it.

Not the noblest of feelings, but no one could be noble all the time.

"Actually, I have another idea," she said at last. "Why don't you come spend Christmas with my family?"

"Your family?"

"Yes."

"But your family are…"

"Muggles, yes. Don't look so horrified, it's not catching."

"I was just taken by surprise, that's all." Draco adopted a more diplomatic expression, but Hermione was not convinced.

"There are 7 billion human beings on the planet, a solid 95% of which are Muggles. It's high time you met some."

"I know some," he said defensively.

"Like who?"

Draco considered this for a few seconds. "Fine, I don't know any. Why start now?"

"Draco!"

"If I must," he relented with a sigh. "But I have one condition."

"What?"

"We're already breaking curfew." He started undoing her tie. "Might as well be hanged for stealing a sheep as stealing a lamb."


	5. Chapter 5

Mr and Mrs Granger were an ordinary couple who led an ordinary life, living in an ordinary home in a small town just outside London. They had met in college, fallen in love over a shared interest in dentistry and academic pursuits, and cemented their relationship over the shared belief that Queen II was the single most perfect album known to man and that Bohemian Rhapsody was entirely overrated.

Mrs Granger — who was then a Miss Wilkins — had harboured serious doubts as to the long-term prospects of a relationship with a man who believed the moon landing had been staged, and that there was a secret ministry entirely devoted to obscure policies meant to deceive large sections of the population. It was simply not becoming in someone who was otherwise quite brilliant.

Conspiracy theories notwithstanding, Jean Wilkins somehow found herself married to Hugh Granger. After a respectable amount of time had passed, they welcomed into their lives a baby girl, who they named Hermione after Hugh's mother, and Jean after her own.

Hermione Jean Granger was a healthy, happy and clever child. She read well above her grade, was inquisitive and bright, and, much to her mother's relief, showed no interest whatsoever in far-fetched theories not supported by hard evidence.

Mr Granger's firm belief in government cover-ups was finally vindicated on the summer Hermione was eleven, when a strangely-dressed woman showed up on their doorstep claiming to be a representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The Grangers were somewhat shocked, but not entirely surprised by this woman's claim that their daughter was special not only in the normal way parents think of their own child as special, but that she was, in fact, a witch. They were observant people and it had not escaped their notice that for some time now, strange things sometimes happened around their little Hermione — things that defied logical explanation.

If she were to be quite honest with herself, Mrs Granger would be forced to admit that she was somewhat relieved by finally having a strong, logical explanation for all the strange events surrounding her only child.

Even if that explanation was witchcraft.

For some time now she had harboured the mortifying conviction that she was letting her husband's unscientific notions get to her. That was far more upsetting to her world view than the revelation that magic was real and her daughter a witch.

Both Mr and Mrs Granger were delighted that such a school — which as far as they could ascertain was a distinguished institution of learning — was offering a place to their clever little girl. Their belief in the merits of a good education outweighed their misgivings about sending their eleven-year-old to boarding school.

Over the years, they had not yet come to regret their decision. Hermione seemed happy at Hogwarts. She was enthusiastic about the things she was learning and even more so about the friends she had made. And if sometimes they felt they were not quite as involved in their child's life as they would have liked, they never let that overshadow the absolute pride they had in their little girl's achievements.

When Mrs Granger got Hermione's letter requesting permission to bring a friend over for Christmas, she immediately send the owl back with an affirmative reply, without thinking to first discuss it with Mr Granger. This proved to be a decision somewhat disruptive of the domestic felicity felt in the Granger's kitchen up until that point.

"But it's a boy, Jean," Mr Granger said for the tenth time in under five minutes.

"I'm aware it's a boy, dear," Mrs Granger sighed, rescuing the potato Mr Granger was mutilating. "I did not think Draco was a girl's name."

"Are we now the kind of parents who allow their teenage daughter to have a boy sleeping over?"

"Don't be nonsensical, Hugh, he'll sleep on the sofa. And put down that knife, you're gonna poke someone's eye out."

"That is not the point. What do we even know about this Draco? I have never heard her mentioning a Draco."

"Well, I dare say we'll learn all about him over Christmas."

"Whatever happened to Ron? I quite liked that boy. Funny chap. His father's a really capital fellow."

"They're still friends, darling. Surely a girl is allowed more than one male friend?"

"I'm not saying otherwise. But if she's bringing a boy over to meet her parents, that's not just some male friend. It's a…" Mr Granger paused, at a loss for the right words.

"Gentleman caller?" offered Mrs Granger with a wicked grin.

"You're far too relaxed about this, Jean."

"And you're being completely ridiculous about it. Just this summer she spent two weeks with the Weasleys, who have three boys around her age, including your precious Ron. And Hogwarts is co-ed, she lives surrounded by boys."

"If that's your way of putting my mind at ease, it's not working," he said, grabbing another unsuspecting vegetable.

"Oh give me that, you're just making a mess. Enough of this nonsense. You're behaving like a bad stereotype and it's most unflattering. The boy will come and you will be nice to him. It's the first time Hermione is bringing a friend from school and I want him to feel welcome and her to know she is free to bring her friends over any time. We hardly ever get to see her."

Mr Granger muttered something undecipherable under his breath.

"So help me God, Hugh, you will be pleasant to this boy."

Defeated but unconvinced, Mr Granger agreed that he would do his utmost to be a model of civility.

The week leading up to Hermione's arrival, Mr Granger looked to Mr Bennet for an example of a relaxed approach to fatherhood. Granted, Mr Bennet had ended the novel with an eloped daughter married to a low-life scumbag, but one out of four was not bad, as far as odds were concerned. And in his more reasonable moments, Mr Granger couldn't help but admit that Hermione had more in common with the older Bennet sisters than with the younger ones.

While Jane Austen did much to restore Mr Granger's good humour and sense of proportion, it did not help half as much as numerous fruitless Google queries. Mr Granger took them as a good sign that Draco had never done anything worth writing about on the Internet. Of course, it might well be that wizards and witches simply did not use the World Wide Web. Did Hogwarts have an Internet connection? Mr Granger did not know. He might have to ask Hermione at some point. In the meantime, he was perfectly happy concluding that Draco must be an upstanding young man who kept out of trouble.

With this in mind, Mr Granger was a picture of peace and reasonableness when he picked up his daughter at King's Cross.

"Hello darling, how was the journey?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek before reaching for the baggage trolley.

"It was good. Too long, I couldn't wait to get to London. Missed you and mum a lot."

"We missed you too, sweetheart. Is your friend Ron around? I had hoped to have a word with his father."

A shadow crossed Hermione's face. "There was an accident; Mr Weasley is in the hospital. Ron, Ginny and the twins left earlier for home, they did not take the train."

"Oh dear. Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No, he'll be okay." Hermione's smile seemed a bit forced, but Mr Granger attributed that to the exhaustion from the trip and put the issue from his mind. He was somewhat disappointed about missing Mr Weasley, as he had hoped to discretely ask Arthur what he knew about this Malfoy boy.

"Your friend is not riding to the house with us?" he asked, looking around for anyone who might look like a Draco.

"No, he's going home first. He'll meet us tomorrow."

"Oh, I see. Are his parents around? I would very much like to meet them."

"I think they left already," said Hermione, taking over the trolley and starting to push it towards the cancel that led to King's Cross proper. If she looked a bit flustered, Mr Granger did not remark on it.

* * *

"Hermione, do sit down, dear, you're making me dizzy," Mrs Granger said, looking up from her copy of _Dentistry Through the Ages_.

"Sorry, mum." Hermione did as she was bid, reaching for the old Daily Prophet on the coffee table. She'd have to remember to take all the copies of the newspaper to her room before the rest of the family arrived.

Try as she might, she could not sit still for long. To say that she was nervous would be an understatement. Hermione was seriously starting to wonder at what had possessed her to make such an arrangement. It wasn't just that she was bringing Draco Malfoy under the same roof as her Muggle parents and her other unsuspecting Muggle relations, though that certainly made her question her common sense.

It was that somehow, she had overlooked the fact that by inviting Draco over for Christmas, she was in essence inviting Draco over to meet her parents, which when put under a certain light made it seem like she was making some sort of statement, at least going by the way her father had been behaving for the past twenty four hours.

And Hermione really hadn't meant anything by it, other than thinking it would be funny to see Draco Malfoy surrounded by Muggles. That was not something she could really explain to her parents without revealing the prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards held by some members of the magical community, including the Malfoys.

Hermione loved her parents dearly and was as close to them as any sixteen-year-old may reasonably be expected to be, but there were some things best left undisclosed. As such, she was left feeling awkward and self-conscious, and more than a little nervous.

And that made it really hard to just sit still.

"How is Draco getting here, love?" asked her mother, putting down her book.

Hermione started to reply, only to realise she did not know. He couldn't fly in, her house wasn't connected to the Floo network, and the idea of Draco Malfoy taking a Muggle cab — or even the Knight Bus — was risible.

"I'm not sure, mum," she said only.

"Well, it's already four o'clock, he can't be very long now."

Not five minutes had passed when they heard a small _pop_ and Draco Malfoy materialised in the middle of the Granger living room, accompanied by a wide-eyed house-elf. Mrs Granger gasped, startled, and Mr Granger ran out of his study to see what all the commotion was about.

"Terribly sorry to barge in," said Draco. "We would have apparated outside, only I was afraid of being seen by mugg— by regular people."

Mr and Mrs Granger still seemed somewhat dumbfounded by the abrupt entrance of the young wizard, as well as by the strange creature now standing one step behind him, and, for a few seconds, no one said anything.

"Mum, dad, this is Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, breaking what was beginning to be a rather awkward silence. "Draco, these are my parents, Jean and Hugh Granger."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance. Mr Granger, Mrs Granger, thank you very much for your hospitality." He handed Hermione's mother a colourful bouquet of daffodils. Mrs Granger smiled at Draco and thanked him for the flowers, seeming to have already decided she rather liked this respectful young man.

Hermione tried not to smirk. All those years sucking up to teachers were paying off.

"Who is your little friend?" asked Mr Granger, trying to peer at the strange creature half-hidden behind Draco. The wizard turned around, seeming to have momentarily forgotten the house-elf.

"Oh, this is Ziggy." The house-elf tilted her head to the side for a quick glance at the Grangers before hiding back behind her master. "She brought us here. Thank you, Ziggy, you may go back to the manor now."

Draco Malfoy thanking a house-elf. Hermione could have died of shock if she didn't know better. Her mum wasn't the only person in the house on whose good side Draco was trying to get. Ziggy bowed reverently and disappeared with a snap of her long fingers.

Mrs Granger went out of her way to make sure Draco felt at home. She gave him a tour of the house, enquired after his favourite foods, and politely asked about his grades and favourite subjects.

At first her father said little, seemingly happy to let his wife take over all the host duties. Reserve was not in Mr Granger's nature, however, and soon he was happily engaged in a discussion of the inner-workings of the Ministry of Magic with the young wizard. No other part of the magical world fascinated Mr Granger so much, and thanks to his father's political connections, Draco was more knowledgeable about wizard politics than most fifteen-year-olds.

"Well, I must say that is absolutely amazing, my boy. Memory charms. Ingenious. Though the ethical implications are certainly troubling. Still, I can see how keeping the secrecy around the magical community would be paramount to those in charge. I wonder to what extent parliament or even the government are aware of its existence."

"It is my understanding that only the Prime Minister is aware, sir," Draco took a careful sip on his hot chocolate. "Father is rather close to Cornelius Fudge, who commented with him that the Muggle Prime Minister nearly had an apoplexy on the night he was elected, when Fudge walked out of the fireplace to introduce himself."

"I can well imagine," Mr Granger laughed. "Enough to make a man think he's gone bonkers."

Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes at the shameless name-dropping, but she was also glad and relieved that Draco and her father were getting along. Her mum was also absolutely delighted with the charming wizard and even Crookshanks seemed to approve of the young man, rubbing against his legs from time to time, asking to be petted.

She didn't know how much of Draco's behaviour was genuine and how much an act, but she also did not think it mattered. He was making a genuine effort at being agreeable to her parents and she couldn't ask for more.

"But I thought Hogwarts was independent from the Ministry." Somehow the conversation had turned from the Muggle and magic branches of government back to their school.

"In a manner of speaking, sir. The Board of Governors consults with the Ministry, which can influence school policy. Father says the appointment of Professor Umbridge was approved by the Board of Governors at the Ministry's request, not by Dumbledore."

"Is that usual?" Mrs Granger leaned forward, an interested expression on her face.

"Not really, but given last year's events and the rumours flying around, the Ministry was bound to put some pressure on the school," Draco said, shrugging. Hermione winced, suddenly realising that she had not thought to warn Draco about all the things she had kept from her parents.

"What do you mean, what happened?" Mrs Granger asked with a frown. Mr Granger smile had also morphed into a concerned expression.

Hermione kicked Draco under the table and frowned at him, all the while cursing herself for such a basic mistake. She normally had more foresight than this. It would be easy to blame it on how he made her head spin when they were together, and the way he managed to get under her skin, but Hermione was a smart witch. Draco or no Draco, she was a smart witch and she should have thought about it. She had no one to blame but herself.

It was a testament to Draco's ability to think on his feet that without missing a beat he span an elaborate lie about Dumbledore's advancing years and a hushed up scandal involving a goat and large amounts of mead. His delivery of this story was so successful that by the end of it both Mr and Mrs Granger were roaring with laughter and wondering at the eccentric old man who ran their daughter's school.

Later, when they were both alone, Draco playfully pulled one of Hermione's curls to get her attention. "You've been keeping secrets, Granger," he accused.

Hermione shrugged. "It would only worry them. Wizard parents aren't crazy about the fact that a student died, but students have died at Hogwarts before. They know there's a chance, however small. In my parent's world, the possibility of death isn't an acceptable risk when going to school. Besides, they think of magic as going through life with a life jacket. They see it as something that will keep me safer. They don't need to learn any different."

"I guess you also didn't tell them about the pure-blood, Muggle-hating, dark magic-loving prats you go to school with, huh?" he asked, pulling her to the sofa with him.

"I might have failed to mention that as well," she replied with a smile. "Though I might have said on occasion that Slytherins are nothing but a bunch of gits."

"Is that a fact?" He nibbled on her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Although I suppose not all Slytherins are entirely without some merit," she smiled, finding his lips with hers.

Suddenly, a voice shouted down to them from the first floor.

"Hermione, time for bed. You'll have plenty of time to chat tomorrow." The sound of Mr Granger's steps receded as he walked back to his room.

Hermione sighed. She kissed Draco again, before getting up.

"The downside of parental supervision," she said, letting go of his hand.

"Are there any upsides to parental supervision?" he laughed, getting under the covers of the makeshift bed.

She was almost at the foot of the stairs when he called to her.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?" She turned to face him.

"How do I turn off the lights?"


	6. Chapter 6

On the first day in the Granger household, Draco uncovered the wonders of electricity by learning how to turn off a lamp. On the second day in the Granger household, he delved further into the mysteries of the Muggle world by finding out exactly what a TV was and what it did.

On the third day in the Granger household, he had a temporary setback when Mrs Granger — who was perched on top of a ladder trying to pry the Christmas decorations from under a pile of boxes — asked him if he would be a darling and pick up the phone. Feeling overconfident from his previous encounters with both light bulbs and TV sets, Draco willingly obliged.

The events that followed resulted in much hilarity and a less than flattering comparison to Ron Weasley. Hermione, the disloyal git, went so far as to recreate the whole thing at dinner time for her father's benefit — since Mr Granger had missed the original performance.

The ensuing conversation, which revolved around the Weasleys in general, and Mr Weasley in particular, did nothing to improve Draco's mood and dragged on long enough to make him start considering the merits of shovelling his brain out with a fork.

"Such an interesting man, wouldn't you say?" asked Mr Granger after a particularly long anecdote.

"Yes, sir."

"I have never seen such enthusiasm over a spark plug in my life."

Draco wasn't sure what he found more aggravating, Mr Granger's incessant blabbering about the red-headed Muggle-lover or Hermione's amused grin.

He worked hard at keeping an expression of polite interest while his mind ran over all the reasons why he hated Muggles and their stupid gadgets and their ridiculous phones, and their annoying infatuation with prideless blood-traitors named Weasley.

"That reminds me," Mrs Granger turned to Hermione, interrupting Mr Granger's chatter. "How is Arthur doing? Is he out of the hospital, yet?"

Hermione's smile faltered and she cast Draco a worried glance.

"Not sure, mum. There hasn't been an owl."

"We should sent Molly a note, Hugh, and maybe some flowers. Can you set it up, dear?"

Hermione nodded, suddenly seeming to develop a renewed interest in the roasted potatoes still on her plate. Draco would not have found the circumstances surrounding Mr Weasley's hospitalisation half as interesting if Hermione didn't seem so curiously tight-lipped about it.

After dinner, Draco found himself in a Muggle-filled auditorium with a large screen occupying the far wall. They had been unable to get four seats together, so Mr and Mrs Granger were sitting three rows downs, which suited him just fine. There were only so many hilarious stories about the Weasleys he could put up with in one night, and, this way, he could try to pry what promised to be a rather interesting story out of Hermione at his leisure. She was having none of it, however.

"Ask me no questions—"

"And you'll tell me no lies, right." He pulled his hand away from hers, sinking further into his chair.

"Don't sulk," she said.

"Not sulking, just watching the film. Isn't Muggle technology fascinating? I bet Daddy Weasley would totally lose it if he saw this. Probably enough to put him in St Mungo's for good."

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The light from the screen was enough for Draco to see Hermione's furious expression. Someone on a different row shushed them and the witch blushed.

"I don't think you're supposed to talk loudly in here," he said. "But I'm new to the whole Muggle experience, so I could be wrong."

Something exploded on-screen, causing him to miss Hermione's reply. He didn't need to hear the words to get the meaning, however, and he was not surprised when she got up and stormed out.

He glanced at the row where Mr and Mrs Granger were sitting, and, confirming that they were still happily watching the alien invasion currently taking place, he braved the growing annoyance of the people sitting on his row and followed the witch outside.

It was no longer snowing, but the biting cold making its way through his quilted jacket still made him wish he was wearing wizard robes and a cloak. Hermione was pacing back and forth a few feet away from the entrance, her arms crossed for warmth. She glowered at him.

"He could have died." Her voice trembled. "He was badly hurt and he could have died, so don't you dare make light of it."

He bit back a snide remark. He knew he was in a horrible mood and spoiling for a fight. His day had been filled with Muggles and Weasleys, and he had no particular fondness for either. Draco badly wanted to push something hard enough just to watch it break, but he refused to let his temper get the best of him.

"I apologise," he said coolly. "I shouldn't have said it." He paused for a few seconds, before adding: "I'm going to head back. I don't think I'm in the mood for aliens."

"I'll go with you," she offered. Part of him wanted to snigger at the way it only took an apology and a somewhat more aloof demeanour to get her from angry to concerned in under thirty seconds. Gryffindors were pathetically predictable.

Part of him knew he was still being an ass.

"Don't," he said, planting a soft kiss on her cheek by way of apology. "Your parents will be worried if we're both gone when the film is over. I'll meet you back at the house."

He walked away without waiting for a reply. Tall lamp posts cast circles of light on the trampled snow but the light never reached very far into the night. There were no other people walking around and he could hear no sounds other than the soft rustle of the trees. It was snowing again, tiny flakes of cold falling against his head and neck. His hat and scarf lay forgotten back in the cinema, lost and useless.

He didn't actually mind the snow, however. It suited his mood. And after a few blocks, he didn't even feel the cold anymore.

Draco flexed his fingers, trying to shake some of the annoyance. What he wouldn't give to be back at Hogwarts or the manor, anywhere where he could throw a proper temper tantrum and just be done with it.

Even he didn't know why he was in such a foul mood. He didn't like looking the fool, but it's not like he knew anyone who mattered who even owned a phone. And if he was letting all the Weasley talk get under his skin like this, then he really was a simpleton.

The only footprints on the snow leading up to the house were his. Glancing at the empty street around him, he reached for the wand in his pocket. Hermione never carried hers when she wasn't at Hogwarts, but he'd feel naked without it.

"Alohomora." The lock clicked and the door slid open. Draco smirked. It was a small inconsequential act of rebellion, but it made him feel better. More like himself. "Lumos." The house was dark but for the small light from his wand. Crookshanks, who was perched on top of the sofa, hissed accusingly at the wizard.

"No one asked you, fuzzball." All the same, he extinguished the light from his wand and went around the room turning on the various lamps. Having for the most part made his peace with Muggle technology, he sat down on the sofa. Even then, he couldn't help glaring at the black phone that sat defiantly on the coffee table like a mocking symbol of his misery. Draco picked up the receiver and held it under Crookshanks's nose.

"Eat this," he dared. Crookshanks glowered at him, not dignifying the request with a reaction. "You know, for all that you are a ginger cat, you'd have made a better Slytherin pet than a Gryffindor one."

Just then he heard a key turning and Hermione walked in, her lips blue from the cold.

"Well, that was quick," Draco observed.

"They wouldn't let me back in," she explained, taking off her heavy coat. "And I remembered you didn't have a key. How did you get it?"

"Hermione, I have something very serious to tell you. I'm a wizard." He held up his wand with a solemn expression.

"Are your purposefully trying to get expelled? Because I know of better ways to go about accomplishing it."

"That's doubtful. The amount of crap you and your friends have pulled over the years and all you ever manage is to get extra House points for your troubles. You wouldn't know the first thing about trying to get expelled."

He reached for her hand, pulling her down on the sofa next to him.

"The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage—"

"Haven't you ever heard that rules are made for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men?"

"I'd very much like to see you try to sell that one to the Ministry."

"I don't have to. You may have forgotten, but my family is extremely well connected. There are more perks to being a Malfoy than annoyingly good looks."

"Don't look so smug. Being part of a corrupt and biased system is nothing to be proud of."

Draco smirked, rubbing her hands between his to warm them. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor."

She rolled her eyes but did not take her hands away. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Hermione was the first one to break the silence.

"There are secrets that are bigger than me."

"I know," he said simply.

"Do you?"

Feeling a renewed pang of guilt at her troubled expression, Draco pulled Hermione closer to him, wrapping his arms around her.

"Yeah, I do."

Gryffindors took care of their own, that was not news. When he wasn't busy being an unreasonable ass, he did not resent her secrets, and he was honest enough with himself to know that he too had his share.

Draco did not try to apologise for his earlier behaviour and he did not try to explain. Words were wind. But he tried to show her that he was sorry, with hands, and lips, and whispered words that made her smile. She was precious to him, and he did not forget that, even when the part of him that wanted to curse at the world got louder than the part of him that just wanted to make her smile. Preferably at him. Hopefully as if he too were precious to her.

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "We should get up," he said lazily, playing with her hair. Somehow they had ended up half-lying on the sofa, an entangled mess of limbs. "Your parents will be home soon."

"We should," she agreed without moving.

"Sure, just lie there. I hope you feel extremely guilty when your father beats the crap out of me and kicks me out into the cold, dark night."

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows, her lips curved in an amused grin. "Have you met my father?"

"All that cheerfulness clearly hides a deeply twisted individual."

"Oh yes, he's a regular Jekyll and Hyde," she laughed, sitting up. He took her extended hand, doing likewise.

"Now, how can we spend the time till they come back?" he asked, his hands wandering back to her waist.

"Oi, whatever happened to your fear of being kicked out into the cold, dark night?"

"Right you are. Well, then I believe you have no choice but to educate me in the minutiae of Muggle culture." Draco got up, opening his arms dramatically. "I am an open canvas."

Half an hour later, when Mr and Mrs Granger got home, the image of Draco Malfoy trying to do the moonwalk quickly replaced the phone incident as the funniest thing they had seen all week.

* * *

After five days with the Grangers, Draco felt perfectly acclimatised to life among Muggles. He would never be a Muggle enthusiast like Arthur Weasley, but he was ready to admit, even if only in private, that Muggles were not as backwards as he had once believed. It certainly helped that Mrs Granger, and to some extent Mr Granger, reminded him a lot of Hermione. They too were bookish and knowledgeable, and believed in doing things the proper way.

The honeymoon period suddenly came to a screeching halt with the arrival of the remaining members of the Christmas party. These were a Mr Wilkins, a Mr Wilkins, a Mrs Wilkins and a despicable little brat named Logan.

The first Mr Wilkins — or as Draco usually thought of him, Old Man Wilkins — was Hermione's grandfather, a retired professor of Economics who liked to quiz Draco on current events and to ask him about his intentions.

Since Draco did not keep up with Muggle news, and currently his intentions revolved around trying to make it through the day without using an Unforgivable on the old man's youngest grandson, he strongly suspected that Old Man Wilkins thought him something of a rascal, and a rather dim-witted one at that.

Young Mr Wilkins was Mrs Granger's respectable brother. From what Draco could gather from hushed up conversations in the kitchen, there was also a disreputable brother — a daring young fellow who had eschewed the solid values of academia and gone into the visual arts — but no one spoke of him in Old Wilkins's hearing.

Mr Wilkins the younger and his wife, Mrs Wilkins, were a perfectly amiable couple who smiled easily, joked a lot, and who seemed perfectly ready to be as delighted in him as Mr and Mrs Granger appeared to be. Draco was always more than willing to be flattered, and his fondness for the Wilkinses would have matched his fondness for the Grangers were it not for the insufferable little brat they called a son.

Logan Wilkins made Draco gain a whole new appreciation for the first years at Hogwarts, who knew enough to be wary of Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin friends. All of his father's connections wouldn't be able to get him out of trouble if he were to hex the little brat, but he found himself wondering whether it would not be worth it just to get rid of him. At least if they tossed him in Azkaban, he wouldn't have to put up with the irritating git.

"Minnie," the kid whined, "come play. Draco sucks."

"Yeah, Minnie," Draco mimicked the kid's drawl, putting down the uncooperative controller. "come play."_ Before I put this bloody Nintendo to its clearly intended use and beat your cousin to death with it._ No magic trail then. The perfect crime.

Just then Mr Granger's head emerged from behind the semi-closed kitchen door. "Hermione, dear, can I see you in here for a second?" Draco followed the witch to the kitchen in a bid to escape his nine-year-old tormentor.

As Mr Granger hurriedly closed the door behind them, Draco's eyes fell on the cause of all the mystery: a snow-white owl was perched precariously on the back of a kitchen chair and there was a large package on the table. He knew the owl, of course. She looked almost as snotty as her owner. While Hermione went around looking for something to feed Hedwig, he cautiously petted the bird.

"Your owner is a prat." He snatched his hand back just in time to avoid Hedwig's sharp beak. "Crookshanks," he called to the cat sitting on the windowsill, "kill." The ginger feline stared at him unblinkingly for two seconds before proceeding to lick his paw. "Maim?" Crookshanks carried on with his impromptu bath, ignoring the wizard. "You're useless."

"Take these up to your room, Hermione, don't put them under the tree," warned Mr Granger.

"I know, dad."

There was no telling what the package contained, and none of the Wilkinses were aware of the exact nature of Hermione's field of study. Draco wasn't sure whether that was due to Ministry directives or because, as far as Old Man Wilkins was concerned, witchcraft was probably even worse than graphic design.

He hesitated to follow Hermione upstairs, but she smiled and grabbed his hand in passing, pulling him after her. They sat on the bed, bent over the contents of the box. Draco sneered at the beige jumper he pulled from the package.

"This is ghastly."

"It is not. I love Mrs Weasley's jumpers, they're so comfy." Hermione grabbed the jumper, putting it on over her t-shirt. The letters H and G were knitted on the front.

After she finished examining the contents of the package — which included a book from Harry-King-of-Originality-Potter and a perfume from Ron-I-May-Have-Misplaced-My-Brain-Weasley — Hermione reached under the bed for another, smaller package wrapped in gold and red paper, and handed it to Draco.

"Merry Christmas," she said with a smile. "It's probably better you open it here rather than downstairs."

He could feel the package moving as he ripped the paper. Inside there were two small model dragons. He reached into the box and the larger dragon, a Norwegian Ridgeback, immediately hopped onto his hand, using its sharp claws to climb up his arm. The second model dragon, a Chinese Fireball, cautiously peered over the edge of the box, and, finding nothing particularly alarming in his surroundings, jumped onto the bed.

"These are awesome," he said earnestly, scooping up the Chinese Fireball to take a closer look. "Where did you even find them?"

"Ron's brother Charlie works with dragons in Romania. His company makes these for training, and I asked if he could get me a couple."

"They're amazing." He leaned forward, kissing her. "Thanks, Minnie."

She winced at the nickname. "No one over the age of ten gets to call me that. Ever."

"Let me go get your present." Draco ran downstairs, rummaged through his backpack and, finding what he was looking for, ran back upstairs, ignoring Logan's pestering questions.

"Here," he said, handing a small parcel to Hermione. The witch carefully unwrapped it, revealing a purple, beaded handbag.

"Draco, I had no idea you had a knack for accessorizing," she grinned, teasingly. "It's lovely. Thank you."

"As if I would settle for lovely," he scoffed. "It has an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. It could carry half the contents of Hogwarts Library without anyone being any the wiser."

"That's amazing," she turned the bag in her hands. "It's a hard spell to get right."

"Lucky for you that I am extremely smart and talented. Ravenclaw smart and talented. I'm wasted in Slytherin, really."

"Of course you are," she laughed.

"Look inside," he urged. "There's something else."

She reached into the bag, her arm disappearing all the way to her shoulder before she could find the second gift. After managing to hunt it down, she held the silver chain between her fingers, examining the dark pendant hanging from it — a small cut of the night sky with tiny dot stars shining faintly in a pit of black.

She grinned knowingly after a few moments. "The Draco constellation."

"I think you're also wasted in Gryffindor," he teased.

"It's beautiful, Draco."

He shrugged. "Something to remember me by."

"Afraid I may forget you in the morning?"

"I don't know. I hear women are very fickle creatures."

She put her arms around his neck, grinning. "Better make the best of today, then," she teased. "You know, just in case."

The forgotten Norwegian Ridgeback and Chinese Fireball scurried away to the edge of the bed, trying to avoid being trampled by the giggling witch and wizard.

* * *

**AN: I don't normally write several drafts of a chapter, but this time I was almost 1500 words in when I decided it was simply not working and deleted half of it. Some chapters write themselves, others — like this one — need to be dragged out and beaten into submission :). Overall, I'm pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoyed it! ~ Kel**

**Draco's argument that "rules are made for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men" is from a quote by Douglas Bader, who was a RAF pilot during WWII.**


	7. Chapter 7

"Finite Incantatem, Finite Incantatem," she whispered frantically, over and over. Hearing the traces of hysteria in her own voice, Hermione forced herself to stop. Stop fighting the straps binding her to the seat. Stop panicking. Stop remembering the odds of managing to cast a spell without a wand. Just stop.

Sometimes information was just not that helpful.

The witch took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She was smart. She was resourceful. She was the top student in her year. If anyone could cast a wandless spell, it was her.

She took another deep breath, closing her eyes and reaching out to the magic around her. Ignoring the way the binds were digging into her skin, she focused instead on the power in them.

All magic was intention, willpower, and execution. Spells were but an expression of will. Wands were but a tool.

She could do this. She would do this.

"Finite Incantatem," she commanded, her voice clear and strong.

Nothing happened.

A half-strangled sob escaped her throat as she began to frantically pull at the binds, which reacted by coiling tighter around her.

"You're going to hurt yourself like that." Draco closed the station door behind him, locking it with a wave of his wand.

She did not look at the wizard and she did not reply, but the sound of his voice was enough to freeze her in place.

Draco just stood there in silence until all she wanted to do was to scream at him or break down crying. Neither was an option, however. She glared at the wizard, who watched her with a guarded expression. He sighed, suddenly looking more tired and older than Hermione had ever seen him. She fought hard to hold back tears as he leaned down and kissed her head, one hand running through her hair.

"Everything will be okay, Hermione. I promise."

She looked away from him, tears streaming down her face. None of it would be okay.

* * *

The first thing Hermione thought when they Apparated in Malfoy Manor was that Apparition was an extremely practical way to travel. The second thing she thought was that the ground was getting closer at a somewhat alarming speed. Draco caught her just in time to stop her from landing on her face.

"Very graceful, Granger," he teased.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Granger, terribly sorry," squeaked the panic-stricken house-elf. "Misty did not mean to make Master Draco's friend fall, no, no, no. Misty is very, very sorry."

"That's quite all right, Misty," replied the witch, ignoring Draco's sneer. "It was my fault; it's my first time Apparating. Thank you very much for coming to get us."

It was the last weekend before the start of term and they had decided to swap the Granger residence for a quick stay at the Manor. It had meant a few white lies — such as saying that Mr and Mrs Malfoy were at home — and a few more outrageous ones, such as Draco's assurance that his parents would be delighted to have Hermione over for the weekend. It was extremely hard for Hermione to keep a straight face through _that_ particular fiction.

"Run along, Mist," Draco ordered. "And take our bags."

"Please," Hermione added, frowning at the wizard.

"Please," he humoured her, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let me give you a tour."

Malfoy Manor was certainly impressive, filled with lavishly decorated rooms with high ceilings, and corridors that turned and twisted until people didn't know where they were or how to get out. Paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, a touch of colour against dark grey stone. The cold disapproving eyes of the occupants of the frames followed the pair in their wandering through the Manor, silent and critical.

There was a table in the corner of the drawing room where numerous framed photographs vied for attention. Hermione hadn't known the subjects of the paintings — many of them Malfoys of ages past — but she found that she knew several of the people in the pictures.

In one, an incredibly young Lucius Malfoy posed in his Hogwarts robes, surrounded by a group of fellow Slytherins. There was a picture of adult Lucius shaking the hand of Millicent Bagnold that was almost an exact copy of the photo next to it, where he was seen with Cornelius Fudge. There was also a picture of Narcissa and her sister Bellatrix, who Hermione recognised from her portrait in Grimmauld Place. That photograph was awkwardly framed, as if a third person had originally been standing to Narcissa's right.

There were many pictures of Draco — one of his eleven-year-old self at Hogwarts, one of him with a broom in his Quidditch uniform, and even one of him in the dress robes he had worn at the Yule Ball the year before. Hermione smiled as she picked up a picture where he couldn't have been more than five years old, a petulant frown on his face as he tried to pry a cat away from an equally cross little girl.

"Is that Parkinson?" she asked in disbelief.

"We've known each other since we were kids. Poor Fluffy was never the same after that day."

"Tell me you didn't name your cat Fluffy…"

"Pansy named it. The stupid beast wouldn't answer to anything else."

Hermione set down the frame, picking up the picture next to it. In it, a slightly older Draco was standing besides Lucius. The boy seemed ill; his normally pale skin looked ashen and there were dark circles under his eyes. The two Malfoys were standing just outside the shadows cast by the fortress looming in the background. Hermione did not have to see the dark shadows flying around it to know what place it was.

"How old were you?" she asked, unable to look away from the image.

"Eight."

"Why would your father take an eight-year-old to Azkaban?"

"Cautionary tale."

She turned to him with a mischievous grin. "Was the lesson, 'don't do evil'?"

He smirked. "The lesson was, 'don't get caught'. Now come on, I've saved the best for last."

She followed him to a carved door at the end of the drawing room.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"What for?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just do it. Don't you trust me?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Clever girl," he laughed.

She closed her eyes all the same, a smile still on her lips, and let him lead her into the room. It was getting dark outside and, even with her eyes closed, she could tell when several lamps lit up along the walls.

"Okay, open your eyes."

It took a moment for her vision to adjust, but when it did she was rendered speechless. The room was much larger than it looked from the outside. It expanded impossibly both to the right and to the left of the mahogany desk by which she was standing, large bookcases occupying every inch of wall not assigned to a window. In different corners of the room, wooden staircases led to a raised platform for easier access to the higher shelves.

"My father's study," Draco explained. "Dozens of generations of Malfoys have collected the books in our collection. This place could put the Hogwarts restricted section to shame."

She walked up to the shelves by the entrance for a closer look at the books, but all the titles seemed out of focus. Hermione frowned, trying to read the letters on the spines of the ancient tomes, but the harder she tried, the more the titles morphed into blobs of ink with no discernible meaning.

"There are wards around the shelves," Draco explained. "The Manor was raided by the Ministry a few years back. Of course, we had advance warning, so Father set up these. Honestly, I think he was just trying to mess with the Ministry's lackeys. There are no banned books in this room."

"In this room?" she echoed, knowing she shouldn't be feeling quite as amused about it as she was.

He shrugged, smirking. "There may be one or two stashed around the Manor, somewhere." And then, to redeem himself from his family's less than legal proclivities, Draco reached for his wand and pointed it to one of the books, a large tome bound in leather. "Libri Revelio." A small circle of light seemed to fall on that section, briefly bringing into focus the titles of the books in its radius.

"Lend me your wand," Hermione asked, suddenly wishing she had more than a weekend in which to explore the Malfoy Library.

"Where's yours?" Draco said, moving his wand possessively out of reach.

"In my bag."

"What kind of witch doesn't carry her wand around?"

"The underage kind. Some of us like to stay on the right side of the law."

"You have no sense of adventure."

"You have no notion of consequences."

"You can't have my wand, I'm very attached to it." He raised it dramatically above his head.

"Don't be a child, I just want to borrow it for a second," she said, getting on the tip of her toes, trying to reach it.

"But the law, Minnie," he teased, grinning.

"I told you not to call me that," she protested, still trying to reach the wand.

Seeming to consider that the best defence was a good offence, he hid the wand on the shelf above her head before pinning her against the bookcase.

"Mine," he growled with a mock frown, a few inches away from her face.

"Haven't your parents ever taught you to share?" She tried to release her arms but he tightened his grip.

"I'm the only child of one of the oldest and richest wizarding families in Britain," he laughed. "I can say with some degree of certainty that they never did."

"How disappointingly unsurprising." She tried to scowl, but the smile firmly etched on her face refused to go away.

"Though I suppose I could be open to some persuasion." He nudged her nose with his, but moved his face back when she made to kiss him.

"Tease," she complained.

"Don't think I don't know you only want me for my books."

She laughed at his exaggerated wounded expression. "Well, you can't show me a library like this and expect to get my full attention."

"I did not think this through, did I?"

"And this is why you are not in Ravenclaw." She wrapped her newly-freed arms around his neck and Draco smiled down at her. Just then a door banged nearby, making them both jump.

"What the hell?" Draco said, moving towards the library door, which was partly open. The loud voices in the distance were getting louder.

Hermione stood frozen a few feet away from the tense young wizard, who extinguished the lights with a wave of his wand and closed the door further, allowing only a small gap through which to look.

"Ziggy, wine." The booming voice of Lucius Malfoy echoed in the stone halls of Malfoy Manor. The previously empty drawing room was suddenly overflowing with people talking loudly and cheering. Hermione gripped Draco's arm, watching the scene on the other side of the door.

She recognised Draco's parents straight away, but there were others known to her.

Crabbe Sr, who looked remarkably like his son, sighed happily as he seized a bottle from one of the house-elves. And near the immense fireplace she spotted Theodore Nott's father, who she had seen before in King's Cross alongside his son.

The elegant robes worn by the Malfoys, and by Nott and Crabbe stood in stark contrast against the ragged clothes of some of the other wizards.

"Lucius," a dishevelled witch called out. "We must go to him. This is a momentous occasion and I have waited far too long already. Take us to him."

"All in good time, Bella. All in good time."

Hermione gasped, recognising the witch. Bellatrix Lestrange bore little resemblance to her picture. Her hair was a wild mess of curls and her once willowy frame had become gaunt and emaciated.

"NOW!" the witch yelled, eyes impossibly large in her haggard face.

Lucius sighed, looking at his wife for assistance.

"You have waited fifteen years, my darling," said Narcissa in a conciliatory tone. "A few more hours won't hurt."

"The Dark Lord will summon us when he's good and ready," said Crabbe cheerfully, reaching for the cream puffs. "There's no rushing these things."

Hermione didn't realise she was shaking until Draco placed a hand over her own, which still clung to his arm.

One of the men distanced himself from the group, his face pointing upwards, as if he was trying to catch a scent. He had a bulky built and a wild expression, albeit more contained than Bellatrix's.

"Greyback," Nott said quietly, "We'll need patrols out on the grounds. If anyone catches wind of this lot being here, we'll have the Ministry at our heels before any of us can say 'Azkaban'."

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it," replied the other gruffly. "It's taken care of."

"You all right, Dolohov?" Crabbe Sr asked a greenly-looking wizard who was half-lying in a settee, his face contorted in a pained expression.

"Let him be, top-dweller," spat another wizard in tattered robes. "Some of us haven't been living in luxury's lap for the past decade. You try rotting in Azkaban for over ten years and then see how well you take it."

Crabbe Sr, still holding a half-eaten cream puff, raised his hands apologetically, as if to atone for the indignity of his luxury-filled, Azkaban-free life.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to bury some of the fear she felt building in her chest. She needed a clear mind. She needed to think. If there had been a mass breakout at Azkaban… How had there even been a mass breakout in Azkaban? The only two people who had ever managed to escape were Sirius and Barty Crouch, the first one because he was an Animagus, and the second through his father's deception and his mother's sacrifice.

But an escape of this magnitude… There were at least a dozen escaped Death Eaters in the room. The Dementors would never have allowed it, not unless… the Dementors were no longer under Ministry control. Hermione took a step back. She had to tell someone. She had to warn Dumbledore. She had to tell Harry.

Her sudden movement startled Draco, who let go of the door, allowing it to slide back a few inches. Greyback's eyes flew in their direction and both teenagers froze in place. The man crept towards the door, his piercing eyes unblinking.

Draco turned to her. "Hide," he mouthed.

* * *

The wizard did not wait to see Hermione find cover behind a group of shelves. Draco took a deep breath to steady himself and then threw the door open, marching out of the room. He listened for the sound of it closing behind him, suppressing a sigh of relief when he heard it.

"As souvenirs go, I think you may have outdone yourself this time, mother," he said, nodding at the assembled Death Eaters.

"Draco," Narcissa let go of Bellatrix's arm and rushed to her son's side. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I was bored."

"We told you to stay at Hogwarts." His father's restrained tone chilled Draco more than anger would have, but the young wizard's face mirrored Lucius's impassive expression.

"You also told me you were going to Europe. Life is full of surprises."

Crabbe's father roared with laughter. "You have one cheeky kid, Lucius, one cheeky kid."

Crabbe Sr's amusement was not shared by the majority of the Death Eaters, however. While Bellatrix was still sulking in a corner, eyeing Lucius resentfully, the rest was starting to cast concerned glances around. Dolohov looked positively panicked. "Malfoy, if we are not safe here… If there are people…"

"Settle down, Dolohov," Lucius ordered with a bored look on his face. "The Manor is safe. There is no one under this roof who would give you away." Draco could have sworn he heard one of the portraits snort, but he did not look to see. The portraits in the Manor were vowed to protect the Malfoy family secrets. And he too was a Malfoy. "Draco is my son," his father continued. "Questioning his loyalty is questioning mine. Understood?"

Dolohov muttered something under his breath but returned to his place on the settee, sitting at the edge, his eyes darting to the windows every few seconds. Just then, Draco realised Greyback was still hanging around the back of the room, edging towards the library with his face up in the air.

"Father," he called, "are we associating with half-breeds these days?"

Fenrir Greyback spun around with murder in his eyes, lips pulled back revealing his sharp fangs. "Watch it, cub," he growled. "You're a bit too old for my taste, but I can still rip you to pieces, even this far away from the full moon."

Draco affected a yawn. The enraged Greyback was almost upon him when Narcissa's and Lucius's wands at his throat brought him to a sudden halt.

"Don't make me warn you twice, Greyback." The werewolf might have been almost twice her size, but in that moment, Narcissa was the scariest person in the room. Greyback took a step back, his expression a stony mask.

"Draco, adults are talking," Lucius chided. "Go to your room."

Draco ignored the smirks in the faces around him. "Gentlemen," he nodded before leaving. He paused, his eyes meeting Bellatrix's deranged gaze. "Aunt."

He strolled out of the drawing room, his hands in his pockets. When he was sure he was out of sight and out of earshot, Draco broke into a run, conquering the stone steps two at a time as he hurried up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom banged against the wall when he threw it open, but the wizard did not let the noise worry him. The mansion was too vast and too jealous of its secrets for the sound to have reached the Death Eaters on the floor below.

"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper." He pointed his wand at the lit fireplace and the flames turned blue, while the wall at the black slid sideways, revealing a dark entrance. "Lumus," he whispered, diving for the opening.

He spared hardly a glance at the weighed-down shelves that lined the walls of the narrow passageway as he made his way down. When he came to the library entrance, he paused, extinguishing the light of his wand and listening for any sounds on the other side of the panel. Failing to hear anything, he opened it cautiously, greeted by the all-encompassing darkness on the other side.

"Hermione," he whispered, stepping down into the room. "Lumus." The soft blueish light fell on the shelves, which cast long shadows against the books and the floor. Hermione's form peered from behind a bookcase on the other end of the room. "Come on," he whispered. She hesitated only briefly before hurriedly crossing the room. Her hand on his felt ice cold, but her determined expression showed no fear.

They were almost at the passage when the library door suddenly flew open, flooding the room with light from the drawing room. He turned around, pulling Hermione behind him, his wand raised.

Narcissa stopped in her tracks and stared at her son. Hermione gasped behind him. His instinct to lower his wand at the sight of his mother was at war with the part of his brain that warned him that was a terrible idea.

The witch glanced at the drawing room before closing the door behind her. A wave of her wand caused all the lamps in the library to come to life. She pointed the wand at the door. "Muffliato," she whispered, before turning to her son. "Move out of the way, Draco," she ordered, her wand aimed at them.

Draco stood his ground. "I will take care of it, mother," he said, turning his wand hand so as to stop it from shaking.

"You know what's at stake here." Narcissa took one step forward, mirrored by him taking a step back.

"I said I will take care of it," he snarled. He knew what was at stake. He understood what would happen to Hermione were she to be found by the Death Eaters currently feasting next door. He realised what it would mean for his parents if it came out that their son was hiding a Mudblood in the Manor; one who had seen and heard far too much. He was also not oblivious to the consequences of Hermione revealing what she had seen at the Manor tonight. Draco Malfoy was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

It had all gone to hell in the blink of an eye and he didn't know what to do nor how to fix it, and he couldn't breathe. But he refused to panic and he refused to move.

The sound of something breaking in the other room followed by a roar of laughter made them all jump. The elf-made wine appeared to be having the desired effect of relaxing the collection of skittish Death Eaters.

Draco took another step back, edging towards the open passageway.

"Colloportus," Narcissa shouted at the door behind them, just as Draco yelled, "Protego." The first spell bounced off Draco's shield and it was hard to say who looked more shocked; Narcissa, whose own son had believed her capable of casting something he'd need to shield, or Draco, whose shields had never had to stop anything more serious than Blaise being a prat.

"Mother, please," he begged. He searched for the words that could convince his mother that letting her fifteen-year-old son deal with something that could signify the fall of her House and the destruction of her family was a good idea, but for once he had no arguments left.

"Cissy!" The shrill voice was followed by approaching footsteps and Narcissa's face lost all colour as her eyes darted to the library door. "Go," she said, looking back at her son with a terrified expression.

Draco did not wait for his mother to change her mind. He turned on his heels, following Hermione into the secret passage, careful to keep his body between the two witches.

They hurried in silence past the shelves and the banned books, and the cursed knick-knacks hidden in corners. They rushed out of the master bedroom and past the silent corridors filled with nothing but the echo of their steps.

The moment they entered his bedroom, Hermione dashed towards her beaded bag lying on the bed, rummaging frantically through it until she found her wand.

"Misty! Ziggy!" he bellowed. The house-elves Apparated immediately, looking around befuddled. Draco grabbed the closest one by her dirty apron, lifting Misty off the ground.

"Draco, put her down," Hermione said, but he ignored the distressed witch.

"I'm only going to say this once. Not a word about Hermione to anyone downstairs. Not even my parents. You are forbidden to talk about her, to mention her presence, or even to confirm that she is or was ever here. And you better make sure the other house-elves keep their traps shut about it."

The terrified elves only nodded.

"Misty, scamper," Draco ordered. There was no telling what would happen if his father were to ask her a question that directly contradicted Draco's instructions, but there was no reason to suppose he would. And as for his mother… there was no helping what she already knew.

"Ziggy, you're Apparating us at Hogwarts," he ordered, looking around for his things.

"We can't Apparate at Hogwarts. Draco. Will you please stop moving around? Listen to what I'm saying." She grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn towards her. "We can't Apparate at Hogwarts," she repeated. Her calm voice only served to increase his own anxiety.

"If that lot downstairs finds you here, they'll spend the rest of the night taking turns at playing Crucio the Mudblood." To say nothing of the questions it would raise regarding his family's loyalty. "We need to go."

"I know that. But we can't Apparate at Hogwarts. It's not possible to Apparate anywhere on the grounds."

"House-elves can Apparate at Hogwarts."

"House-elves can, but even a house-elf can't take _us_ past the wards. Best case scenario we wouldn't move. Worst case scenario, we'd get splinched trying."

Draco took a deep breath, struggling to think. They couldn't Apparate in a Muggle area. He needed somewhere where he could use magic without bringing the Ministry down on them. Proper magic, not just a small Unlocking Charm. Even if the Ministry probably had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

"Diagon Alley," Hermione suggested, putting on her cloak. "We'd be safe there."

Diagon Alley. The perfect place to go if he wanted to read in tomorrow's Prophet that there were escaped Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor.

"No, we'll go to Hogsmeade. It's not warded off against Apparition." And the station was far away enough from the village that there wouldn't be anyone around at night.

The witch nodded, clutching her purse in one hand and her wand in the other. He was about to order Ziggy to take them there when Hermione threw her arms around his neck. Against his better judgement, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him and burying his face in her messy hair. That morning had started happily. They had had breakfast at the Granger kitchen table and Mr Granger had made pancakes. How had they gone from pancakes to here?

When he let go, they both had tears in their eyes and neither spoke. Rather than turn to Ziggy for their already much delayed departure, Draco pulled Hermione back to him and kissed her, deeply, hungrily, and perhaps rather foolishly. The clock was ticking and they absolutely needed to go.

"Ziggy," he called at last. "Take us to Hogsmeade Station."

The moment they Apparated, he was ready to catch Hermione in case she lost her balance again, but the witch had landed firmly on her feet and Draco found himself staring at her pointed wand. He took a slow step back, more tired than surprised.

"So," he said.

"So," she echoed.

"It would appear we find ourselves with something of a conundrum." The station around them was dark and silent, buried under a mantle of snow, but while the moon was not yet full, it gave off enough light for them to see their surroundings.

"People need to know," Hermione said, mirroring his slow backward motion.

"You know I can't let you tell." Very slowly, so as not to draw her attention, he reached for his own wand in his back pocket.

"And you know I can't let you stop me."

"So what do we do with all this knowle—"

"Stupefy!" she yelled.

Quidditch reflexes kicked in and Draco dived to the side, rolling out of the way. No more talking, then. He threw back a Disarming Charm, but she had used the time to find cover behind a pillar. Ziggy was whimpering in the middle of the platform, either too scared to move or too scared to do it without permission. Either way suited him. Hermione would not risk harming the elf, and he didn't care.

His own cover was less than stellar, but it would have to do. Trying to flip the table or one of the benches was useless, as they were bolted in place. He peered over the table just as she did the same from behind her cover.

"Petrificus Totalus," he shouted. The spell whizzed past the pillar, finding nothing but cold air in its path. He couldn't hear Hermione's next cast, but the unmistakable sound of flapping wings caused him more surprise than concern.

"Oppugno," came her voice, loud and clear.

An army of angry birds flew at him like a single entity, pecking and scratching his face and neck. "Blasted hell," he cursed, waving his hands, trying to get rid of them. He nearly stunned himself before he had the presence of mind to mutter, "Finite Incantatem."

When his vision cleared, his eyes fell on Hermione's shape running away towards the end of the platform. He started after her, yelling: "Impedimenta." The jinx hit her squarely on the back with enough force that it threw her forward and she landed heavily on the ground.

For a moment he was afraid he had really hurt her, but she scrambled to her feet and hid in the relative cover of a doorway. The moment he tried to get close, another hex nearly blew his head off.

He was actually relieved.

If he didn't put an end to it soon, one of them would end up actually hurting the other. Draco looked around for ideas and his eyes fell on the brightest one he had had yet. A Slytherin solution to a Gryffindor problem. Checkmate.

Without taking his eyes of the spot where Hermione was hiding, he moved towards the station building. The moment his hand broke through the window, the pain of glass ripping his skin actually felt good. It was a specific kind of pain. Real. Physical. The only uncomplicated thing in an otherwise messed up night. He broke off a shard of glass and called out to the shaking house-elf.

"Ziggy, come here." He didn't turn his back to where Hermione was hiding, but he knew the house-elf was making her way to where he was standing. "Take this piece of glass and gouge your left eye out."

"No!" Hermione screamed. Ziggy's nervous squeaks had grown into frantic sobs, but the house-elf couldn't help the slow movement of the shard towards her eye.

"Enough dancing around." His voice sounded harsh to his own ears. "Come out, or she loses an eye."

"You sick bastard."

"Do feel free to insult me at your leisure, but I don't think Ziggy's eye has that kind of time." Big powerful sobs shook the small creature's body.

"Stop it!" Hermione came into view, walking out of the doorway, her wand by her side.

"Stop, Ziggy." The piece of glass was only a few inches from the elf's face. "Drop your wand." The witch's grip on her wand tightened. "Do it, Hermione." He took grim satisfaction in the fact that at least he wasn't the only one faced with nothing but bad choices.

Shaking with rage, Hermione threw her wand at his feet.

"Accio wand," he whispered. "Let's go."

"Send her home," she demanded without moving.

"I will. When I'm certain that you aren't going anywhere. Let's get out of the cold."

The soft blue light of the moon shone through the window panes and the open door of the main station building, but it didn't reach the shadows in the corners. Draco let his eyes adjust to the half-light without illuminating his wand. He wasn't worried about light being seen — with the amount of noise they had made, if there were people around, they'd know they were there already. But he didn't want a closer look at Hermione's stricken expression. He didn't need to see the anger and the hurt and the rage. He knew they were there and that was enough.

"Sit," he said, pointing to a row of chairs across from the ticket office. Stubborn to the last, the witch just stood there, unmoving, her arms wrapped across her chest. He struggled to keep his voice even. "Let's just skip the part where you refuse and I threaten the damn elf again, because next time, I'll skip the eye and have her shove the damn glass into her carotid."

Urged by Ziggy's convulsive sobs, Hermione did as she was told. Draco pointed his wand at her: "Incarcerous." Ropes shot from his wand, coiling around a startled Hermione and binding her to the chair. She instinctively tried to get up again, but the straps twisted tighter around her torso and legs, pulling her back against the seat. The struggle to keep from moving was evident in the tension in her shoulders and the way she closed her eyes, focusing on trying to control her laboured breathing.

Unable to stand it one second longer, Draco rushed outside. Ziggy was standing by the door, swaying back and forth, the shard still held tightly in her hand. Every few seconds, a new droplet of blood added to the growing stain on the white snow. Feeling like he was going to throw up, Draco took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. "Drop the glass, Ziggy." The elf slowly put her hand forward, as if expecting a rebuke. As none came, she finally released the shard, immediately hugging her hand against her body.

He had grown up surrounded by house-elves just like her. They served his family, cleaned after him, saw to his needs. For him, house-elves were like the portraits at the Manor: they existed and they moved and they talked, but their reality did not extend past their usefulness. He did not hate house-elves, but only in the same manner that no one would hate a teapot.

But looking at his own bloodied hand, for the first time he thought of this one very specific house-elf as a fellow thinking, feeling creature, and the weight of that almost crushed him. He wanted to apologise, to say he was sorry and that he hadn't meant it.

But he _had_ meant it.

And some things you cannot atone for.

"Go home, Ziggy," he said simply, starting to walk to the other end of the platform. A small _pop_ let him know that the house-elf had Disapparated.

Everything was quiet outside, and the reflection of the moon on the snow gave the world around him a soft glow. He stopped by the broken window. "Reparo," he said, wishing that all broken things were that easy to fix. Then he picked up Hermione's dropped purse before erasing all other signs of their presence with a wave of his wand.

Having put off the inevitable long enough, he walked back into the station's main building, closing the door behind him.

"You're going to hurt yourself like that." Hermione started visibly at the sound of his voice, and stopped struggling against the binds.

He regarded her in silence for a few moments before coming to kneel on the floor, looking up at her. The witch winced when he reached for his wand.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, sickened that it needed saying.

"Forgive me if I don't find that reassuring." Even in the half-light, he could see the tears falling freely down her face, but her voice was steady. "What are you going to do, exactly?" she asked.

"Memory Charm. You'll simply forget. Like it never happened."

Her nearly hysterical laughter filled the room. "You think you can make me forget and that will somehow fix everything? How dare you?" she asked, voice dripping with loathing. "If you're making me forget, then be thorough. I want to forget it all. I want to forget us. I want to forget you. I don't ever want to look at your face again."

He nodded, ignoring the iron fist currently squeezing his lungs. Sometimes things broke too thoroughly to fix and there was no amount of magic in the world that could put them to rights again.

He raised his wand.

"Draco," Hermione said in a small voice.

"Yeah?"

"Don't mess up the spell."

He tried to smile. "Ravenclaw smart, remember?" She started to cry in earnest at that. His heart breaking, he reached for the witch, pressing her forehead against his for a few precious seconds and kissing her tear-stained cheek before falling back on his knees.

She closed her eyes as he raised his wand again.

"Obliviate."

* * *

**AN: It look me far longer than I'm willing to admit to finish this chapter. I had decided on the general outline of it back when I was writing chapter 2 and it was originally meant to be the end of this fic. At some point, I decided however that I am still having too much fun writing this, and that I don't want to end it quite so grimly (also, when I emailed this chapter to my friend, she texted me with "You're a monster and I'll never forgive you," followed by "Until I get giggles and cuddles again, we're not speaking", so I better have something up my sleeve...).**

**Regarding the timeline, in Order of the Phoenix we don't learn of the mass breakout until the middle of January, after classes have started. I had them escape a few weeks earlier so it would fit with the story. Also, I have no trouble believing the Ministry would have kept it under wraps until they had no choice but to go public with the information...**

**Many thanks to my beta, RaistlinTheWizard, who finally got an account here!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Part II**

In the months that followed that night at Hogsmeade Station, Draco learnt two things. First he learnt that people get attached to the different things in their lives, including grief. Sometime he thought Hermione had got the better end of the bargain — she couldn't be hurt by the things she couldn't remember — only to realise he would never willingly give up his own memories, however painful.

Second, he learnt that with enough time the human mind got used to everything, even pain. There were days when he still couldn't look at Hermione without drowning in a pool of guilt and longing, but mostly the pain had scabbed over and faded into background noise. It was constant and bothersome, but it had to compete for his attention with all the other normal noise of living.

At first he had been determined to ignore the witch, but Draco soon discovered he couldn't help stealing the occasional glance at her, much like one might touch a sore tooth with one's tongue just to make sure it still hurts. It was pointless and masochistic, but like so many other bad habits, it was hard to break.

He was glad that Gryffindors and Slytherins no longer shared many of their classes. Potions, however, which he had always loved, was now something of a weekly torture.

He would often try to focus his energy on feeling extra aggravated by Slughorn's lavish praise of the Wonder Boy, only to be distracted by how much it was also getting on Hermione's nerves. She had never been one to share centre stage in the classroom and it showed.

Two minutes of amusement did not make up for the misery that followed, however, and he would redouble his efforts to try and forget she even existed.

But remembering was part of his penance, and it was hard to forget _that_.

"Very good, Harry, very good. Capital work, m'boy. You're your mother's son, and no doubt about it."

Both Draco and Hermione rolled their eyes at that and Draco emptied his cauldron with an impatient flick of his wand. Nott had spent the better part of the lesson whispering the instructions to himself, which had only served to aggravate Draco further.

When Slughorn dismissed the class, Blaise was the first one out the door, like a man on a mission, much to Draco's surprise. It was rare to see Blaise excited about anything at all.

"Draco," said Professor Slughorn, walking up to his desk, "my friendship with your grandfather notwithstanding, I want your essay on my desk by Wednesday or it's detention."

"Yes sir," Draco said, grabbing his bag and walking out the door. Only when he had his back to Slughorn did he allow himself to scowl. He had no time for meaningless essays, but neither did he have time for more detention. If that foolish Bell girl hadn't foiled such an easy task as delivering a package, he wouldn't need to be worrying about homework on top of everything else. Blasted Gryffindors couldn't be any more useless if they tried.

He was so busy cursing at Gryffindor House inside his head that he failed to spot the Gryffindor following his steps until the other wizard shoved him unceremoniously into an empty classroom.

"Do you want to die, Potter?"

"What did you do to her?" demanded the half-blood, grabbing him by his robes. Draco shoved him away, seething.

"Get your hands off me!" He couldn't possibly know about Katie Bell. There was no way he knew about Bell. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hermione. What the fuck did you do to her?"

Draco's hand stopped mid-motion as he was reaching for his wand.

"What about Granger?"

"Don't play the fool, Malfoy. She doesn't remember you. I mean, she remembers that you're a hateful wanker not worth the time of day, but she does not remember that you two were involved," he spat out the last word as if it was something vile.

Draco smirked, ignoring the painful knot twisting in his chest. "And it only took you almost a year to figure that out, Potter? Some friend you are."

"Contrary to what you might think, Malfoy, you're not exactly a popular topic of conversation."

"I have no trouble believing that. I imagine things that are not all about you don't get much attention in Gryffindor circles."

Harry's hands were shaking with barely contained rage, but he did not take the bait. "What did she see that was so terrible that you had to erase her memory?"

"Who's saying she saw anything at all?" Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe I just got sick of being followed around by a love-sick Mudblood."

He knew enough about Gryffindor short tempers to throw a chair in the path of a furious Potter and withdraw his wand.

"Please give me one small excuse to hex you, Potter," he sneered. "It's all I ask."

"You will not get away with this, you twisted bastard." Harry yelled. "I will tell—"

"Go ahead and see who believes you." Draco smirked. "Even if you can prove that her memories were tampered with, you can't prove I did it."

"Maybe, but I can raise enough questions for people to start paying attention. And I may be wrong, but I don't think you want people to be paying much attention to you just now, do you, Malfoy?"

Not for the first time, Draco wished he had used more than a Full Body-Bind on the Wonder Boy on the train. Potter was a meddlesome tosser even when he wasn't on a crusade.

"Go right ahead," he dared. "Raise your questions. Tell your stories. I couldn't care less. Just make sure you're ready for what it will do to Granger."

"Don't you dare bring her up, you worthless piece of scum. You did this to her. She has a right to know."

Draco sneered. "You're not telling her because she has a right to know. You're telling her because you think you can use it to mess with me, even though she's perfectly happy knowing nothing about it. The great Harry Potter, who's not above using his precious friends as chess pieces."

"You don't know a thing about me and my friends, Malfoy, so keep your trap shut." Despite Potter's tough posturing, Draco knew he had him. Nobility had its downsides. Gryffindors wouldn't be half so easy to manipulate if they weren't so bloody predictable.

"As I say, do what you like," he shrugged, putting his wand away and starting to move towards the door. "It is nothing to me, one way or the other."

He was almost at the entrance when Harry's voice made him turn back. "By the way, how's your dad enjoying Azkaban?"

Draco forced himself to keep breathing evenly. If that sorry excuse for a wizard thought he could bait him, he was sorely mistaken. The habit of losing their minds at the slightest provocation was the province of fools and Gryffindors, and Draco Malfoy was neither.

"It won't be a long stay, Potter. And you're an idiot if you think otherwise."

"I don't imagine he'd be too eager to get out. After such a complete screw up at the Ministry, I'm sure he's all too glad to sit back while his wife and son clean up after him."

"Shut your filthy mouth, Potter."

"Why? Don't you like hearing that your dad is a low, cowardly, useless—"

With more nerve than sense, Draco threw himself at Harry, his fist landing squarely on the other boy's face. Before his brain had time to process the surge of pain irradiating from his hand all the way to his shoulder, they were both rolling around on the floor, trying to hit the other with more enthusiasm than accuracy.

Harry's wand had rolled under a table and Draco's was still tugged safely in his pocket, but neither boy made to reach for them. They were so focused on trying to beat the living crap out of each other that they didn't even realise someone had walked in until a voice shouted, "Flipendo," sending Harry flying across the room.

Draco stared at the open door, where Blaise and Weasley stood with their wands aimed at each other.

"You can't hex me, Weasley," Blaise said calmly. "We both know what your aim is like." For some curious reason, that made the Gryffindor turn a deep shade of red. "Go get your friend and we'll call it a truce."

While Ron rushed to Harry's side, Blaise calmly walked up to Draco and offered him a hand to help him up. The moment they clasped hands, Draco turned white and stifled a groan. "Wait," he said. "Not this one." He switched hands and propped himself up with Zabini's help.

With barely a glance at the other two, they walked out, heading in silence towards the dungeons. Blaise asked no questions and Draco offered no explanations. As the adrenaline started to leave his body, his right hand began to pulsate painfully.

"You should go to the hospital wing," Zabini said, noticing the way Draco was cradling the hand.

"Madam Pomfrey is as likely to help as she is to chop it off. I'll take my chances with Gregory." Goyle had begun practising healing spells over the summer. He and Crabbe were in scuffles so often that the need to remedy the natural consequences of such activities had overcome even Goyle's aversion to anything that might be considered learning.

"How did you manage to piss off Madam Pomfrey?"

"That's my own business. You don't see me asking what you were doing with Weasley."

"No need to be so ill-tempered, Draco. People will think you disagreeable."

Draco rolled his eyes, but did not reply. Normally, the thought of punching Potter would have filled him with an unadulterated sense of glee, but the whole scene had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

With his swollen right hand pressed against his body, he flexed the fingers on his left, trying to shake the feeling of the sticky red blood he knew was not there.

"What happened to your hand?" Pansy cried when they entered the Slytherin common room. Both boys ignored her.

"Go find Gregory Goyle," Blaise ordered a random first year who was bent over a Quidditch magazine.

"But—"

"Listen here, you worthless little cockroach," Draco said, using his good hand to drag the boy up by his tie, "either you get Goyle here in the next five minutes or by the time I'm done with you, even Hufflepuff won't take you."

The kid muttered some sort of terrified agreement and hurried out of the dungeons. Crabbe, who was never far when violence was to be had, walked out of the dormitories just then.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

"It came into close proximity with Potter's jaw at a less than optimal speed."

Still clutching his hand, Draco fell into one of the sofas. Across from him, Blaise stared down a second-year into relinquishing his favourite armchair. Then, seeming to decide current events no longer merited his interest, he reached for the book lying on the coffee table.

"You punched Potter?" Crabbe snorted.

"Why did you punch Potter?" Pansy asked, sitting down next to Draco.

"Do I need a reason to punch Potter?"

"But where was your wand?" she insisted.

"Mate, don't go around punching people," Crabbe said with barely contained amusement. "If you need people punched, Gregory and I will do the punching. You clearly suck at it."

Draco scowled. "You aim, then you throw your fist. It really doesn't seem to involve a lot of science."

Crabbe shook his head at such blatant disregard for the fine art of properly beating up someone.

"It doesn't take a whole lot of brains to know a skull is harder than a hand. You punch someone on the face with a closed fist, you better know what you're doing or that's gonna happen."

They all looked up as Goyle ran into the room followed by the out-of-breath first year, who cast a worried glance at the grandfather clock in the corner.

"What happened?" cried Goyle.

"Draco punched Potter for reasons yet undisclosed," offered Pansy. "With a closed fist, which apparently is a terrible idea. I'm not entirely sure what Blaise's role in all of this is."

"Mate, if you need people punched, Vincent and me will do the punching."

"Vincent and I," mouthed Blaise to no one in particular, his eyes never leaving the book.

"Just what I said," Crabbe agreed. "Next time, just hex him or something."

"Lay off, will you?" Draco snapped. "Can you do anything about this?" He raised the injured hand to Goyle. The other boy took a hold of it, carefully flexing each finger. Draco winced but did not move.

"I think something is broken," Goyle said, frowning at the swelling. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey."

"I don't need a second lecture from her; I already got you lot on my case. Can't you fix it?"

"Depends. How brave are you feeling?"

"Just get on with it."

Goyle shrugged. "It's your funeral." He carefully turned Draco's hand between his one last time, frowning as he ran a light finger over different spots. "This is a terrible idea," he said, before reaching for his wand and touching it to Draco's skin. "Episkey."

Warmth spread from the tips of his fingers all the way to his wrist, right before the whole hand became cold as if it had been dunked in ice cold water. The swelling went down almost instantly, however, which Draco took to be a good sign. He tentatively flexed his fingers.

"It worked!" Goyle's smile was euphoric. "I can't believe it worked!"

"Thanks, Greg."

"Mate, did you see that?" Goyle asked Crabbe excitedly. "It bloody worked!"

"Blimey," said Crabbe. "Last time you tried it on me, it was like getting hit by a Bludger. That's what I call improvement."

"Settle down, boys," Pansy said, tucking her legs under her on the sofa and nestling against Draco, who put a lazy arm around her shoulders.

"Don't even," Blaise said, looking up from his book. "It's making Urquhart glare and it's throwing off my reading."

"You can't even see him from where you are," Pansy replied. "And he can glare all he wants. If he's so bothered, he shouldn't have been flirting with Millie."

"Why, Pansy, I feel used," Draco complained mockingly.

"We all have our crosses to bear, darling. And besides," she continued, "I'm thinking of dumping him. He lacks a certain something."

"Yeah, a full Gringotts vault," Blaise scoffed.

"Don't project your mummy issues on me, Zabini."

"Is everything ready for later?" Draco asked Crabbe, not in the mood to put up with his friends' bickering.

Crabbe nodded with a self-satisfied smile, but Goyle — who up until that point had still been basking in the glory of his great medical success — frowned unhappily.

"Not again. Must we really? It's embarrassing as hell," he complained.

"You do as you're told, Goyle, same as always," Draco replied coldly.

"But it hardly seems fair that we always get the crappy assignments," the other insisted with a mutinous expression.

"The fault, dear Brutus," Blaise said without looking up from his book, "is not in our stars, but in ourselves that we are underlings."

Silence met that bizarre declaration. Blaise looked up at the perplexed face of the other Slytherins. "Shakespeare," he said in a tone that suggested they were all ignorant idiots.

Pansy sneered. "Don't quote Muggles, Blaise, it's not attractive."

"Peasants," he scoffed, returning his attention to the book.

"I will never understand how you can stand to read all that Muggle trash," Pansy continued. "You're always going on about how you hate filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors, and then you spend all your time reading that crap."

Closing the book with a sigh, Blaise got up, looking down at Pansy. "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." And with that he left the room.

"Well, on that cheerful note, I have stuff to do as well," Draco said, getting up. He was almost at the entrance to the dormitories when he heard Goyle ask: "What sort of creature is a hobgoblin?"

The dormitory was empty when he walked in, which was hardly surprising, being the middle of the day. Draco started looking around in his trunk for parchment for the blasted Potions essay, but he paused when his eyes fell on the carved wooden box half-hidden under a shirt. He picked it up and sat down on his bed, eyeing it with a heavy heart. Releasing the miniature dragons on his pillow, he lay down on the bed, watching them growl and snap at each other.

Potter's words echoed in his mind. _You did this to her._ Sometimes, late at night, Draco would tell himself that, in a way, he had done it for her as well. That some types of knowledge were dangerous, and that by doing what he did, he had kept her safe.

It was a comforting thought, but it was also a small piece of fiction, and he knew it. He hadn't done it _for_ her. He had done it _to_ her, and _in spite of_ her, and if Hermione were to wake up tomorrow with all her memories intact, she would never forgive him. And he couldn't really fault her for that. He would never be able to forgive himself either.

Draco did not raise his head to see Blaise come into the room. The other boy walked up to the bed, and, after a few moments in silence, picked up the Chinese Fireball.

"They're also called Liondragons," he mused. "I don't think Gryffindor is accepting transfers, Malfoy."

"Bite me, Zabini."

"You're not my type."

"Why? Not rich enough?"

Blaise laughed. "No, the money is decent. And you're not so unpleasant to look at, either. But you're too much drama, Draco."

The blond boy chuckled. That was the understatement of the century.

* * *

Hermione dashed into the first unlocked classroom she could find, the image of Ron kissing Lavender Brown etched into her brain. Not that she cared that he was kissing Lavender Brown. He could kiss whoever he bloody well liked. He could be making out with Filch in broom cupboards for all she cared.

And maybe she couldn't quite explain the ugly feeling burning in her chest that made her want to hex him and jinx her, and never look at either one of them ever again.

But it was most certainly not because Ron had been kissing Lavender Brown.

Hermione sat on the desk closest to the window. The gloomy half-light of the room only added to her loneliness. She didn't know what she was supposed to have done to Ron for him to be in such a mood with her. And whenever she and Ron were fighting, it was hard not to feel that Harry always chose him over her. Even if it wasn't fair. Even if it wasn't true.

The whole thing was exhausting and draining, and she just wanted everything to be normal between them again.

And preferably for Ron to no longer be kissing Lavender Brown.

With a flick of her wand, she conjured a flock of birds. They were meagre company, but it was better than nothing. Just then, Harry walked in.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said, feeling more than a little disloyal for her previous thoughts. She knew it was not easy on him when she and Ron were fighting. "I was just practising." She pointed at the birds.

"Yeah. They're really good."

"Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations," she said, unable to contain herself.

"Er… does he?" Harry's awkwardness couldn't be plainer, but she was feeling too cross to be charitable.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," she pressed. "He wasn't exactly hiding it."

Just then, Ron himself barged into the room, dragging a giggly Lavender behind him. They stopped in their tracks at the sigh of Harry and Hermione, and Lavender stifled another bout of giggles before waltzing out of the room.

For a moment no one spoke and the only sound in the classroom came from the chirping birds that still circled Hermione's head. The happy noise felt strange and out of place.

"Hi, Harry!" Ron finally said, his tone cheerful but tense. "Wondered where you'd got to."

Hermione got up, followed by her merry entourage of canaries. "You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said, trying to keep her tone level. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

She walked to the door, shoulders back, head held high. Maybe it did bother her, but she'd be damned if she was going to let him see that. She only needed to keep up her mask of indifference until she was safely out of the room. Breathe in, breathe out; five more steps until the door. One foot before the other, eyes straight ahead. When she grabbed the handle, she thought for a moment that she had made it. But just then, that ugly feeling hidden just beneath the surface took over. She spun around, wand raised, and yelled, "Oppugno!".

The birds flew at Ron like vengeful spirits, pecking and scratching his face and neck, as the boy frantically tried to swat them away with his hands. She couldn't help a smug grin before walking out.

Lavender was nowhere to be seen. Hermione started making her way towards the common room, but just as she turned a corner, the witch was suddenly overcome by dizziness and had to lean on the wall to stop from falling. It was gone in a moment, however, but as soon as she straightened up, her legs buckled under her and she fell to her knees, her brain flooded with random thoughts and feelings.

_Oppugno! And then she ran, her heart drumming in her hears. She heard the jinx before the strike hit and threw her forward. Warmth mingled with pain spreading across her back. Snow in her mouth and nose. The small moment of panic when she couldn't breathe, followed by the clarity of instinct when she found new cover. So cold. There was no light but the blue, soft glow of the moon and the sharp, quick light of the spells that seemed to miss more than hit. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?_

Hermione gasped, trying to catch her breath. Her thoughts were sand, and the more she struggled to hold them, the more they got away. These were pathways that led nowhere, and the more she tried to follow them, the more disoriented she felt until all she could do was sob into her hands in the empty corridor.

* * *

**AN: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings," is from Shakespeare's ****_Julius Caesar_****.**

**"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds," is from ****_Self-Reliance_****, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.**

**The dialogue at the end of the chapter is from ****_Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_****.**

**Hope you enjoyed it ;) ~Kel**


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione had never faced a problem, big or small, for which she could not find the answer in a book. Or so she told herself as she bent forward, trying to decipher the minute script of the dusty old tome lying open in front of her. There was a pile of discarded books to her left and several sheets of parchment to her right.

Every time she added a new tome to the tower of books, the structural integrity of the thing came a little closer to ruin, but so far it hadn't stopped her from adding yet another volume whose usefulness had proved limited. The parchment was covered with hurriedly scribbled notes, but despite her industrious efforts, being buried under a literary avalanche might well be the most exciting thing to happen yet.

She sighed, aggravated. She had no time for any of this. She had miles of homework from all of her classes, to say nothing of all the extra studying required at NEWT level. And try as she might, she could not find anything useful, which was hardly surprising. How could she find an answer if she didn't know the question?

It didn't deter her, however, and not just because she could not stand a puzzle with no solution.

Hermione was no stranger to fear. No one could go to Hogwarts for five years and live through the things she had without getting reasonably acquainted with the feeling. But nothing had ever prepared her for the sheer terror of a mind turned to sand and water, a brain that refused to obey or even respond, and thoughts scrambled and jumbled until even breathing took effort.

She could still feel it echoing inside her head every time she closed her eyes, even so many weeks later. And sometimes during the day, a word or a gesture would trigger something inside her, as if her mind was trying to piece together associations that simply were not there.

Sometimes she saw images, as she had that first night, crying alone in the empty corridor. There were flashes of light, like spells in the dark, and stone halls where steps echoed. Sometimes there were sounds: the frantic sobs of a child, a whisper she couldn't quite make out, and happy laughter she couldn't place. And other times she could feel the soft brush of skin against skin and the breath of someone standing too close.

There were times when she could feel straps biting into her wrists and arms, and she had to get up to shake it off.

She learnt that trying to follow the memories was only good to give herself a panic attack, so she didn't. She waited it out, hoping that the next episode would not find her in the middle of a class, or at lunch in the Great Hall, and hoping that if it did, no one would be any the wiser. She learnt that pretending everything was as it should be was tiring, but not so tiring as waiting for the next time it happened. And there was always a next time. Random, unpredictable, with no triggers she could identify.

Hermione was no fool. She might not know what it was or what had caused it, but she knew enough to know something was wrong. Her theories were many and varied, ranging from the possible, to the unlikely, to the positively ridiculous. Not knowing, everything was fair game. She knew enough to know that the line that separated reasonable from ludicrous was constantly moving.

Remembering Ginny's account of her time under Tom Riddle's influence, Hermione took great pains to go over everything that had happened to her since the beginning of the year, trying to ascertain whether there was any time she could not account for. When that produced no results, she wondered whether it might be something akin to the link between Harry and Voldemort the year before. But she was lacking in the evil nemesis department, so that particular theory went under the "Extremely unlikely scenarios" column.

But even if Voldemort wasn't personally out to get her, these were dangerous times, and she remembered all too well what had happened to Katie Bell.

A Memory Charm was also a possibility, and she could not help but shudder at the thought of Gilderoy Lockhart wandering the halls of St Mungo's with a foolish grin and a mind that would never be whole again. Hermione could not think of any reason why anyone would like to Obliviate her of all people, but she supposed that if anyone had, she would most certainly not recall the reason. This made her move "Memory Charm" from the "Somewhat unlikely" to the "Possible" column.

She had refused to add insanity to the list. There was no family history of mental illness and she was only seventeen, making it extremely unlikely. In her more honest moments, Hermione was forced to admit that the list included several items far more far-fetched than madness, but none of those kept her up at night, and she refused to humour the part of her that felt terrified by the possibility. She recognised it as a fear based more on paranoia than a sound logical basis, and she was too much her mother's daughter to wish to indulge in flights of fancy.

"The library is closing in five minutes," warned Madam Pince. "You better make sure all of those are put back in their correct places, young lady."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said. It's not as if she had found anything useful, anyway. She set aside _The Mind Thief_ to check out, and set out to put the other volumes back to their original place in the shelves.

She was returning _Unforgivables: A History_ to the Restricted Section when her gaze fell upon another book. _The Wizarding Cookbook_ was two parts cheap sensationalism and one part misguided illusions of grandeur, and would have been a dangerous book if any of its recipes actually worked. Mostly, however, it interested no one but rebellious twelve-year-olds who didn't know any better.

The book felt familiar in her hands, and Hermione flipped through some of the pages. She struggled to remember why it was important. It felt important. She knew there was something to remember, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

_Draco Malfoy is a very naughty boy._

The book fell with a bang, as Hermione turned around trying to find the source of the disembodied voice. There was no one there, however, save for books and spiders, and the approaching footsteps of Madam Pince.

"What is the meaning of this?" the librarian asked infuriated. "Pick up that book at once. I would not have expected this of you, Miss Granger. Hurry now. And out of the Restricted Section. If you don't have the maturity to handle books in a responsible fashion, you have no business being in here."

Hermione mumbled her apologies and hurried out of the library red-faced. Her heart was drumming in her chest and there was a knot in her throat, but outrage had mostly replaced fear. Her mind was her playground and she refuse to let anyone or anything have a bigger say in the running of it than she did. She would get to the bottom of this if was the last thing she did.

She must still have looked upset when she entered the common room, however, because Harry got up to meet her right as she was about to reach the entrance to the dormitories.

"Come sit with us," he asked, motioning to where Seamus and Neville were sitting. "Don't let it bother you." It was Harry's awkwardness that clued her in as to what he meant.

Hermione glanced to the corner where Ron and Lavender were drooling all over each other and found that she lacked the energy to care. There were more important things to think about than Ron's appalling taste in women.

"It doesn't bother me, Harry," she said truthfully, though it was clear from his expression that he did not believe her. "But I am tired and I still have things to do before bed."

She didn't give him time to object before making her escape to the relative safety of her room. She appreciated that he was trying to make her feel better, but a brain too full of alien voices made her crave solitude. Sometimes she thought she ought to confide in Harry. He was her friend; he would be there for her even if it did turn out she was one step away from losing her marbles. But he was so worked up over everything that was going on that she didn't want to be yet another thing for him to worry about.

There were still a couple of hours to go before Lavender and Parvati were likely to turn in, and Hermione fully intended to put the time to good use. She fished _The Mind Thief_ out of her bag and opened her trunk, looking for the set of Self-Writing Quills Fred and George had given her for Christmas. She thought she had taken one of the quills with her to the library, but that had turned out to be only a regular quill — a mistake both embarrassing and inconvenient.

Half the contents of her trunk were haphazardly piled around her by the time she found the quills. She had received them only a few weeks before and it was beyond her how they had managed to get that far down in the trunk. As often happens, putting her worldly possessions back in their proper place took twice the time it had taken her to get them out, though mostly because she kept hearing her great aunt Catherine's directions as to the best method of packing. She was almost done when she noticed Crookshanks was sitting on top of one of her purses.

"Other cats help, you know?" she teased, reaching for the purple purse. The shameless feline caught her index finger between his teeth. It was not much of a bite, and she retaliated only by poking him with the uninjured finger by way of retribution. "Silly goose." She stole the purse away from the unimpressed cat, who jumped into the trunk after it.

"Crookshanks, down! Will you stop being silly? It's just an old purse. I don't even remember where I…" She paused before picking up the discarded item again, and turning it between her hands. She did not remember where she had got it, but was that so very strange? She was sure she could not pinpoint the origin of every single thing she owned.

It took only a few minutes of examining the bag for her to realise it was enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. She would most certainly have remembered _that_. Instead of spending time trying to locate whatever items may be inside it, she turned the purse upside down and shook it.

There were only a few things in it, and most of them held little interest. There was a tissue package, a few pounds in lose change, and a copy of _Jane Eyre_ that she thought she had lost.

And then there was a ticket for her hometown's cinema, marked 22nd of December 1995, for a film she did not recall seeing.

Had she gone home for Christmas the year before? She was supposed to go to Grimmauld Place, to be with the Weasleys because Mr Weasley had been attacked right before Christmas, but she didn't remember going. No. Now that she thought about it, she must have gone to her parents' house.

She tried to recall specific events from that winter break, but her brain was full of cotton and the harder she tried, the more she could focus only on the fact that she just couldn't remember. Blinking back tears, Hermione gave up trying to piece together the events of the year before, and picked up the last item.

_Something to remember me by._

The moment she touched the silver chain, her parents' living room flashed before her eyes. She couldn't see the Christmas tree, but there were lights reflected on the opposite wall, twinkling red, yellow and blue. She smiled at how pretty they looked, and wondered briefly whether he thought them pretty too. She knew better than to ask, however. He seemed content enough, his body warm beneath hers as he played with her hair.

The memory was gone in a moment and Hermione struggled to keep from trying to follow it, knowing by now how pointless that would be. Her hands were shaking, but she forced herself to focus on the physical immediacy of the necklace. It was a simple silver chain with a dark pendant. It wasn't something she would normally wear. She ran her fingers along the chain, trying to trigger another vision, but nothing came. She then turned her attention to the pendant, which was black except for the small shining dots.

No, not dots. Stars. It was a constellation.

Hermione gasped, dropping the necklace. It couldn't possibly be.

She got up and rushed to Parvati's bookcase, quickly scanning the titles and grabbing two astrology books. These proved useless, so she ran over to Lavender's equally meagre selection, searching for something that could help. Divination had never been a lucky subject for Hermione, however, and this time proved no exception.

The witch took a deep breath, trying to calm down. She didn't need to look it up. She knew she was right. It was the Draco constellation, she was sure of it. She picked up the necklace again. What had her mum said when she was home for Christmas? "How is Draco doing?" Why hadn't she thought that strange at the time? Why hadn't she noticed all the other times her parents had mentioned him in passing or sent him their love at the end of a letter?

She was not stupid. Surely her Muggle parents politely enquiring about Draco Malfoy's welfare should have merited at least a raised eyebrow. She glanced at the piece of parchment with her list of possibilities, scanning the "Possible" column. Stress, Imperius Curse, Confundus Charm, Memory Charm, False Memory Charm…

She stopped. Memory Charm and False Memory Charm both fit. Obliviated brains protected the reality as they saw it. She would have dismissed her parents comments without batting an eye.

A False Memory Charm was equally possible and twice as likely, though. There was no way she remembered Draco Malfoy being civil to her parents. There was even less of a chance that she could genuinely remember the way his body felt against hers as they lay together in the sofa on her parents' living room. She certainly did not remember his lips on her skin, or his hands… She blushed.

She would murder that conniving, foul, good-for-nothing ferret. Harry wouldn't have to worry about whether or not Malfoy really was part of Voldemort's grand new plan of recruiting sixteen-year-old Death Eaters, because Hermione Granger was going to kill that evil cockroach.

She shoved the necklace into her pocket and ran down the stairs. She headed straight for Harry, ignoring Lavender's indignant look when she bumped into her chair, and pulled her friend aside.

"I need to borrow the Marauder's Map."

"Now?" he asked surprised.

"Now."

"Whatever for?"

"That's my own business. Can you just go get it, please?" She tried to control her fidgeting by crossing her arms, but it was impossible to stand still and she kept transferring her weight from one leg to the other.

"Hermione, is everything okay?"

"Harry, will you please for once in your life just do what I'm asking and lend me the bloody map without an interrogation?"

Startled by her tone, Harry stopped arguing and hurried to the boys' dormitories, followed by the witch. He reached under his pillow and handed her the blank piece of parchment.

"You need to—"

"I know how it works, thanks."

"Hermione, wait."

But she had already ran out the door. As soon as she was outside the Gryffindor Common Room, she looked around to make sure she was alone, and quickly tapped the parchment with her wand.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." And perhaps for the first time ever, she meant it. She did not pause to consider that he was extremely unlikely to give up the plot simply because she confronted him. She didn't care if it was not the smartest way to go about doing it. She badly wanted to hurt the evil bastard.

_The problem with Gryffindors is that you're all brawn and no brains._

She shook her head, trying to ignore the echoes that she knew were not real, and focused on the map instead. She looked at the Slytherin Common Room first, but he was not there. That was lucky, because in her current mood she'd have gone all the way to the dungeons, and even _she_ couldn't see that ending well for her.

She finally spotted him in one of the galleries on the fifth floor. There was no one else nearby, which was not surprising. While curfew was still a few hours away, the eastern side of the gallery was open to the outside, which in January meant it would be freezing up there.

"Mischief managed." Putting the map away, she tightened her grip on her wand and marched on.

The closer she got to her destination, the fewer people there were around and she hadn't seen anyone at all for at least five minutes before she finally reached the gallery. Malfoy was leaning over the railing, watching the forest below, but he looked up as she approached, alerted by her footsteps.

She barely had time to raise her wand before it flew out of her hand and into his.

"You shouldn't walk around with such a stormy face, Granger. People will think you're out to get them."

"Give it back, you horrid, despicable snake." She tried to grab her wand back, but Malfoy was faster and hid it in one of the pockets of his robes.

"When you look as if you're about to hex me halfway to the lake? I think not."

"What have you done to me?" She shoved him for lack of a better outlet for her anger.

"Get your filthy hands off me, Mudblood," he said.

"Or what, Malfoy?" She shoved him again. "I'm not scared of you."

He grabbed her hands and spun her around, slamming her against the railing and twisting her arms painfully behind her back.

"Maybe you should be, Granger," he snarled. She had barely a second to contemplate the drop from up there before he yanked her hair back, forcing her head up. "Potter should've kept his mouth shut. I have neither the time nor the inclination to humour his little delusions and I certainly don't have time for the likes of you."

"Let go of me!" she demanded, trying to release her hands, but he only tightened his grip.

_You're going to hurt yourself like that._

She gasped, feeling the panic rising in her throat as the memory brushed against her mind. _Not now_, she thought desperately.

She could feel his breath against her ear when he spoke again. "You're a smart girl. Do the smart thing. Stay the hell away from me." He stepped away from her, letting go of her hands and hair. Fighting the urge to run out, Hermione turned to face him.

"My wand," she said, her voice sounding unusually high-pitched to her ears. She hated that he could see her shaking, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of running away.

Malfoy returned her wand, his cold grey eyes never leaving hers. Fear had replaced her anger, but there was a tiny gloating spot inside her, too. She hurried her steps as soon as she was out of the gallery. She only hoped Harry was still in the common room.

* * *

The moment he approached the door, Snape knew someone had tampered with his wards. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher carefully turned the knob and the door opened with a click. Everything inside was dark but for the fire burning in the corner. He glanced around, but everything seemed to be in its proper place, from the books stacked on his desk, to the locked cabinet.

With a wave of his wand, greenish orbs lit up around the room, casting wavering shadows on the walls and bookcases. He walked to the centre of the office, examining the contents of the shelves to make sure everything was where it should be. It was only when he turned to walk back to his seat that he realised there was someone sitting down on the ground, on the side of his desk, back against the dark wood and legs stretched towards the wall.

"Have you forgotten how chairs work?" he asked, sitting down on his own armchair. Draco did not move or speak, however. From where he was sitting, Snape could barely see his face, but he noticed the boy's extreme paleness and the way even balling up his hands into fists did not stop them from shaking.

Knowing all too well that pressing him to talk would have the opposite effect, Severus Snape devoted the time to preparing for his next lesson. For some minutes the only sound in the room was the soft scratching of the quill against parchment. When Draco finally spoke, his voice was raspy and strained.

"I scared her," he said. "I scared her off and I hurt her. Again."

Snape sighed. He had been trying to get Draco in his office to discuss the Dark Lord's assignment since the beginning of the year with no luck. But throw a girl in the mix, and suddenly he was left having to wonder how a sixteen-year-old had got past his wards.

"You did what you had to do," he said simply. "You know the part you have to play. She'll be safer away from you."

"No one will be safe."

"We all play the hand we're dealt, Draco," he said simply, because it had been true sixteen years ago and it was still true today.

"And if it's not a good one?"

Snape did not even have to think before replying, "Then you rig the game."

Draco's laughter at that was both joyless and bitter.

"Does it ever bother you that he's made monsters of us?" It only highlighted how young Draco really was that he'd utter something that treasonous to someone else. "He's a monster, and you're a monster, and I'm a monster, and everything we touch will eventually turn to dust and ashes."

Snape sneered. There were so many people vying for that particular distinction that a cornered sixteen-year-old did not even begin to rank.


	10. Chapter 10

_Potter should've kept his mouth shut._ Hermione hurried her step, conquering the stairs two at a time. Malfoy might not have wanted to give her much to go on, but he had given her enough. She was out of breath by the time she ran into the common room, which was now empty but for Seamus and Dean, both of them bent over a chessboard.

"Harry?" she asked.

"Bed," said Dean without looking up from the game. Hermione tried to catch her breath, her mind at war over what to do. She couldn't just walk up to the boys' dormitories, but neither did she want to wait until morning to talk to Harry. "Could one of you go get him?" she asked. "I really needed to talk to him."

"It's late; just talk to him tomorrow," Seamus said, his bishop prancing across the board and delivering a powerful blow to the opposing white knight.

Dean's frustrated expression at his knight's demise was a faded copy of Hermione's overcast countenance. She glared at the two concentrated Gryffindors before marching off towards the dormitories.

Under different circumstances she might have had some scruples about going up to the boys' dormitories in the middle of the night, but if the founders had not thought to prevent it by warding off the staircase like they had for the girls' rooms, she was more than willing to take that as tacit agreement.

"Oi, you can't be here!" Ron squeaked, dragging his covers up to his neck.

"No one cares, Ronald," she said without so much as a glance at him, heading straight for Harry's bed. Her friend was already sitting up and reaching for his glasses.

"What's the matter?" he asked with a frown.

"I need to talk to you. In private. Now."

Harry jumped out of bed, following her out of the room without bothering to change. They passed Dean and Seamus on the stairs.

"Quick Seamus," said Dean mockingly. "Call a prefect. There's a girl in the boys' dormitories."

Hermione forced a smile but did not reply. There was a knot in her throat, as the adrenaline from the confrontation with Malfoy turned to anxiety.

"What happened?" Harry asked when they were alone in the common room. Hermione did not reply immediately, casting a wary glance at the entrance to the dormitories.

Harry followed her gaze. "Muffliato," he whispered, his wand pointed at the doors.

_Move out of the way, Draco._

_Hermione could do nothing but stare as mother and son glared at each other, wands raised and ready. Why didn't she have her wand on her? How could she have been so stupid?_

She pressed her hands against her temples, trying to clear out her head. She was so tired of glimpses and pathways that led nowhere. Whatever secrets were locked inside her brain, they could not compete with her need for a clear account of what was going on.

"Hermione, are you okay? Sit down."

"I'm fine," she said, waiving his hand away and sitting down on the sofa next to him.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Malfoy," she said. Harry's face morphed from a concerned expression to a blank mask and Hermione knew straight away she was on the right track. "What do you know about me and Malfoy?"

"What are you asking, exactly?" he said cautiously.

"Don't. Don't try to figure out what I know so you know what you can tell me. Just tell me."

Harry started to say something, but seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth again. The wizard looked from Hermione to the floor and back to her, as if trying to find the right words.

"Whatever it is, just tell me," she asked again, unnerved by his obvious discomfort.

"I don't even know where to start, to be perfectly honest."

"Just start at the beginning and go from there," she said exasperated.

His expression suggested that it was easier said than done, but at long last he finally started talking. Hermione did not speak and she did not interrupt, even at the parts where she badly wanted to ask a question or to laugh at the absurdity of it all. For surely the mere notion of her having been in a relationship with Draco Malfoy was absurd. He hated her. He hated people like her. And she would never give an arrogant git like him the time of day, even if she didn't share Harry's conviction that Malfoy was evil incarnate.

She managed to stay relatively calm during most of Harry's account. It was like hearing someone else's story; it did not touch or affect her. The last part of it had her seeing red, however.

"You thought Draco Malfoy used a Memory Charm on me and you chose not tell me?" she demanded incredulous. "How could you?"

"He was not wrong in what he said. You were happy; telling you would only have upset you for no good reason."

Hermione closed her eyes for a second, trying to control her rising temper. Draco had played Harry, telling him exactly what he knew would make the Gryffindor stay quiet on the subject.

No, not Draco, what was she even thinking? Malfoy. Malfoy had played Harry. Malfoy, who she despised and loathed, and who she most certainly had never been involved with.

"Well, never mind that now," she said with a sigh. "It's immaterial; I don't think it was a Memory Charm."

"It must have been."

"It can't possibly have been. Harry, do you honestly think it is likely that I would get involved with Draco Malfoy of all people? He thinks I'm scum. He would never look at me twice except to say something snide."

"You're ten times the person he is," Harry argued heatedly.

She smiled at his spirited defence. "That's sweet, but it's not what I meant. I'm saying that from his point of view, I represent everything he sees as being below him. I'm Muggle-born, and a Gryffindor. My parents are dentists, for crying out loud. And I would never get involved with a narrow-minded, arrogant, prejudiced ass like him, either."

"Well, he must have some very hidden depths, because I'm telling you, it happened. I'm not the only one who knows about it, either. Dobby knows about it, and you have the letters from your parents that prove that they know about it too."

"Is that why Ron has been in such a mood with me lately? Does he also think I was involved with Malfoy?"

Harry actually looked discomfited at that. "No, that's something else," he muttered.

Hermione raised an eyebrow but did not pursue the issue. Ron's antics would have to wait. "There's another explanation," she said, getting back on topic. "False Memory Charm. It makes far more sense."

"It makes zero sense," Harry retorted, running a hand through his already messy hair. "You know how many people he would need to charm to pull that off? The two of us, obviously, Dobby, your parents… And for what? What could he possibly hope to achieve by it? A Memory Charm is the simplest explanation."

"But it can't be…" Hermione paused, trying to think. Was she just being stubborn and refusing to consider all the evidence? She could feel the necklace still in her pocket; how did it fit into all of this? If he had Obliviated her — and she wasn't saying he had — how could she possibly be getting memories back?

The whole thing was ridiculous and exhausting, and none of it made sense. There was too much she didn't know, and too many untested and untestable hypothesis.

"Wait here," she said to Harry, getting up.

"Where are you going?" he cried after her.

"To get parchment and quills. We're going to write down everything you know and everything I know, and go from there."

* * *

There were students scattered around the Great Hall, some busy with books and rolls of parchment, others gathered in small noisy groups that were often the object of resentful glances from the more industrious lot. He was supposed to meet Vincent and Gregory there, but so far neither had deigned to grace the room with their presence, and Draco was not pleased. There was plenty going wrong without needing to add to the list the needless wasting of time because of Crabbe and Goyle's inability to be where they were supposed to be.

He didn't even realise he had been staring at Hermione for the better of half an hour until Pansy appeared behind him, wrapping an arm around his.

"Stop pining, it's pathetic."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he scowled, trying to disguise his embarrassment by releasing his trapped armed and walking away. Pansy was having none of it, however.

"You and Blaise are among the best and brightest Slytherin House has to offer," she said, walking by his side. "So why is it always Muggle-borns and blood traitors with you two? It's positively disgraceful."

"If you're going to talk in riddles, I suggest you go find someone who's interested."

"Draco, you're not an idiot, so I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm not an idiot either, so kindly do me the courtesy of not treating me like one."

He sighed, aggravated. Pansy had always been too nosy for his or anyone else's good.

"How long have you known?"

"Long enough. You used to be better at hiding it. You're getting careless."

"Don't need a lecture," he said, internally cursing the world in general and female intuition in particular.

"I beg to differ."

"I'm surprised you didn't say anything before now." Pansy had never been one to measure her words.

"I was too busy silently judging you," she said flippantly.

"Please, I beg you," he said dramatically, turning to her. "Go back to silently judging me."

"But this is so much more fun," she said, mockery hidden beneath the sweetest of smiles.

Draco rolled his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but here, having this conversation. "If you're in the mood to meddle, give it a go with Blaise."

"I'm not worried about Blaise."

"You're not worried about me either, Pansy. You're just bored and looking for a distraction."

"Why would you think me that callous?" she asked innocently.

"Because I know you."

"Why, Draco, I'm hurt," she pouted.

"That would be a first."

She smirked. "I _am_ bored. But that is neither here nor there. Your lack of blood pride, to say nothing of taste, is your own problem. That's not what worries me."

"What does?"

She reached for his left hand, lacing her fingers through his, and lifting his hand in hers. "This," she said simply, casting a pointed look at his left arm.

"Now you're treading on very thin ice." He scowled menacingly, letting go of her hand.

Pansy merely rolled her eyes, unfazed. "I'm not the one walking a tightrope with no net."

"If you have a point to make, make it. I have places to be."

"You shouldn't have got involved in any of it, Draco."

A choice would have been nice. "Funny you should say so, because I remember you being very enthusiastic about it at the beginning of the year. You heartily approved of the whole thing."

"You'd be amazed by the amount of things I approve of in front of an audience."

Of all the people in all the world, she was the one he didn't think he needed to justify his actions to. Pansy was just like him. They came from the same place and had been brought up with the same values. No one understood more completely what it meant to grow up in a family like his than she did. "He will build a world where wizards and witches will finally occupy the place they deserve," he said because he knew it would strike a chord. "I will do my part."

"Families like ours," she said cautiously, "they have long memories. You think your family is old? My family predates the Conquest. We too remember the persecutions and the trials and the burnings. If he can deliver a world where we no longer have to hide, I will gladly live in it."

"You just won't lift a finger to make it happen."

She shook her head, dark serious eyes never leaving his. "There are too many variables and I don't like to gamble."

"He is powerful."

"He was powerful before, and you and I both know how that turned out. I don't agree with Zabini on much, but I agree with him on this. Discretion is the better part of valour."

He couldn't fault her reasoning, but it was not that simple. "I stand by my family."

"Loyalty is a Hufflepuff trait."

"But ambition is a Slytherin one. He will shower rewards on those who served him from the start."

"How is your father enjoying the Dark Lord's rewards, Draco?"

"Don't you dare bring my father into this, Parkinson," he growled.

But Pansy was not some first-year he could scare off. She knew him too well and had known him for too long to be impressed by a flare of temper. "Ambition may be a Slytherin trait," she said calmly, "but so is self-preservation. When you jump off a cliff, maybe you think you can fly, but you won't be growing wings on your way down."

"A fine speech, Pansy, but if it came down to it, you wouldn't turn your back on your own either."

"Draco, if it came down to it I would sell you out in a heartbeat, and I like you better than I like most people, certainly better than I normally like my parents."

"No, you wouldn't," he said. He also knew her too well and had known her for too long to take every word out of her mouth at face value. "I wouldn't be getting this whole speech otherwise. You're not so heartless as you like to think, Pansy."

"And you're not so smart as you like to think, Draco." She frowned but did not object when he threw an arm around her shoulders as they started to walk again. "Just make sure you have an exit strategy, it's all I'm saying."

"I've got it covered," he said, wishing it were true.

"And if you're going to fall for Muggle-borns, at least try to shoot for someone good-looking, will you? And preferably not a Gryffindor… Though I guess I should be glad that you at least stayed clear of Hufflepuffs."

"Let it go, Pansy."

"But Granger, really? I mean, the hair alone—"

"I'm begging you."

* * *

The library was almost empty by the time Hermione finished her Transfiguration essay. She felt slightly aggravated that it had taken her so long to write it, but she knew her heart hadn't been in it. Finally free of academic obligations, she searched her bag for the lists she and Harry had compiled, and neatly divided the parchment sheets into two small piles.

The pile on the left contained all Harry knew of her supposed relationship with Malfoy. It was not much. According to the wizard, it was a sore subject and they had seldom discussed it, which was something Hermione had no trouble believing. It was not much, but it had facts and dates, which was more than could be said of the contents of the other pile.

The sheets of parchment on the right detailed everything Hermione knew herself, either through letters from her parents or through visions and glimpses. It was a maddeningly random collection of interrupted thoughts, disconnected fragments and out of context recollections. None of it made sense and she had stopped trying to piece it all together.

The pile on the left hadn't changed in over a week, but the pile on the right kept growing with the small scraps of information that came to her almost every day. She should have felt happy about that. After all, more information was better than less information. But information that made no sense was just gibberish, and she didn't need to see it written down to know how useless it really was without something that could give it some semblance of order.

She kept writing, though, hoping that eventually she would have enough for it all to make sense.

She knew that was not likely. She had directed her considerable research skills into finding out everything she could about Memory Charms, exhausting Hogwarts Library's extensive resources on the matter. No book told her anything other than what she already knew: that there was no way to revert a Memory Charm.

She then turned to Professor Flitwick, who always welcomed the questions of an inquisitive mind and had long considered Hermione something of an honorary Ravenclaw. The Charms Master, however, had little to add to what she had read, other than pointing out that on some occasions, torture had been known to break such charms.

Strangely enough, that lifted Hermione's spirits. It meant that Memory Charms did not truly erase memories; these were still locked somewhere inside her brain, however out of reach they seemed.

So she kept writing everything down, however trivial. She could not explain why her memories were coming back to her, nor had she read or heard anything that might explain it either, but she hoped that little by little she would be able to get a clearer picture.

Harry had pressed her to tell Dumbledore what had happened, but she had set her foot down. She did not know enough and she refused to make a decision based on incomplete information. That had resulted in a heated argument where she accused him of not caring about her well-being, only about sticking it to Malfoy, to which he retorted that if she was so worried about her well-being, maybe she shouldn't have been snogging Draco-Freaking-Malfoy in the first place.

They were still barely speaking when Dobby lead them to the small tower room where Hermione and Malfoy used to meet — the house-elf's only significant contribution besides what Harry already knew — but Hermione's panic attack upon entering the room had scared Harry so much that any petty arguments were immediately forgotten.

She had not been up there since, but she knew she should go back there. The first time she had been overwhelmed by the images and sounds flooding her brain, but if there was a chance of remembering something worthwhile, she had to return.

Deciding that there was no time like the present, she gathered her things and left the library. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was at practice, so she couldn't ask Harry to come with her, but it was probably better this way. She was anxious enough without having to worry about having a nervous breakdown in front of an audience again. She loved Harry like a brother, but some things were better dealt with alone.

Touching the necklace inside her pocket, she took a fortifying breath and marched on. She couldn't say whether the time it took her to climb up to the out-of-way tower served to calm her down or only added to her anxiety, but she was strangely numb when she reached the room in question. She paused outside, running her wand along the edges of the door.

There were wards protecting the room. She knew, because she had checked, that the room appeared in the Marauder's Map, but the map never showed anyone as being inside it, as they had realised on their previous incursion. She detected other wards she could not identify and didn't know how to test for. Whose wards were they? Hers? Draco's?

Realising she was stalling, she placed her hand on the handle and walked in. Once inside, she paused a moment, allowing the foreign feelings to wash over her while forcing herself to keep breathing evenly, ignoring the torrent of thoughts and memories swirling around inside her head.

The moonlight coming through the small window did a poor job of lighting the room, but she was glad of the darkness. There were enough things assaulting her senses as it was. Hermione dragged herself to the sofa in the corner. Sitting down helped with the vertigo and, after a few moments, her mind had calmed down enough that she could try to focus on her surroundings.

The upholstery under her fingers felt familiar, and while she could only see the contours of the assorted furniture and random knickknacks scattered around, the reality of the room found echoes inside her brain. She grabbed a pillow, hugging it between her arms, and relaxed into the sofa. She would be there a while.

Only five minutes had passed, however, when the door was flung open and someone walked in, closing it behind them. The flash of blond hair left her in no doubt as to who had entered the room. Draco didn't see her and she did not dare to move or make a sound as he leaned back against the door and fell to the floor with a deep sigh.

Her eyes were adjusted to the darkness by now, and she could easily see him in the half-light. Malfoy buried his face on his hands, his elbows propped up by his bended knees. He was quiet for so long that when he violently hit the cabinet next to him with a closed fist, she actually jumped.

Alerted to her presence by the movement, the Slytherin aimed his wand straight at her as orbs lit up around the room.

"Hermione," he said surprised. He looked even paler than usual and there were dark circles under his eyes. When had Draco started looking so gaunt? Malfoy, she corrected herself. When had Malfoy started looking so gaunt?

Getting over his initial surprise, the wizard jumped to his feet, scowling at the witch. "When have Gryffindors taken to skulking in the dark, Granger?"

"I would hardly described it as such, _Malfoy_," she said, trying to sound calm. "After all, lurking in dark places is more of a Slytherin pastime."

"What are you doing here?" He advanced menacingly towards her, but even had she been tempted to move away from him, she could feel the edge of the sofa against the back of her legs.

"It's a free castle."

"Stray cubs shouldn't wander so far away from Gryffindor Tower."

_I'm not afraid of snakes, Parkinson._

Her heart was racing and his presence had doubled her anxiety levels, which had been pretty high to begin with. Little snippets of conversations and images flashed across her brain, too quick to grasp or follow. Hermione was starting to feel light-headed, but she stood her ground.

"I'm so terribly sorry if I interrupted your pity party, Malfoy," she smirked. "You seemed to be having quite a moment there."

For a few seconds, he did not reply, his expression an unreadable mask. She vaguely remembered the way his whole face seemed to change when he smiled, with little wrinkles around his eyes and the illusion of kindness. He wasn't smiling now, however, and all the lines of his face were sharp and angular.

"Get out," he said simply, moving to the side.

"I beg you pardon?" she said surprised.

"You either get out or I'll throw you out. And trust me, Granger, you don't want to go with option B."

"I have as much a right to be here as you do, and I was here first." It was a child's argument, and she knew the moment she said it that it was a dumb move. He was offering her a way out and she should've taken it, because at the moment she was having a hard time standing up, let alone thinking straight. Sometimes she truly was too contrary for her own good.

He walked up to her with all the quiet deliberation of a cat stalking his prey. She looked up at him, trying with all her might to ignore the fact that the room was spinning, and that Draco being so close only made it all the much harder to breathe.

"Would you like to rethink that position, Granger?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

_Everything will be okay, Hermione. I promise._

_But everything was broken and everything was wrong, and she knew none of it would ever be okay again. And every time Ziggy's sobs reached her through the open door, she had to struggle not to give in to her own powerful need to sob. Pride was all she had left, and she wouldn't give it up._

_For all the good it did her._

She pushed past Draco, suddenly desperate to get out of the suffocating room. But she was only halfway to the door when the dark spots at the edge of her vision and the lack of oxygen became unbearable. She couldn't breathe. Try as she might to draw a breath, she couldn't breathe and the room was spinning and she couldn't breathe.

She threw her arm to the side, reaching for something to lean on, but instead strong arms grabbed her, lowering her slowly to the ground. She pulled desperately on her tie, trying to loosen it, because surely she would die, and who had ever devised such a ridiculous uniform that it needed a tie? Oh god, why couldn't she breathe?

It took her a moment to feel the warm hand moving across her back, and it took her longer for the calm words to make sense inside her panicked brain.

"Everything is okay, Hermione," Draco said softly. "Just relax, I'm here. It's just a panic attack, you'll be okay."

* * *

**This chapter is dedicated to my brilliant and talented friend Cali, who has been very patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) waiting for a new chapter for two weeks and who, as of today, is no longer a teenager. *Inserts really sappy and totally out of character birthday message***

**Hope you all enjoyed the chapter ;)**

**Pansy's comment about jumping off a cliff was inspired by a quote by Ray Bradbury: "Go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down." Pansy is somewhat more pessimistic ;)**

**Many thanks to my beta RaistlinTheWizard, who stayed up insanely late to beta this so I could post it tonight. ~Kel**


	11. Chapter 11

Never before had Draco felt so utterly useless as right then, kneeling besides a shaking Hermione on the cluttered tower room.

"It's going to be okay. Just breathe. It's going to be okay." Even as he struggled to think of a way to help, a detached part of his brain kept warning him that this was no time to turn into a bloody gentleman.

Hermione was too focused on trying to breathe between frantic sobs to even notice the strangeness of Draco Malfoy whispering soothing nothings while the world came crashing down around her, but he knew the moment would come when the awkwardness of the situation would catch up with them.

He had to get a grip. It was just a panic attack and she would get through it, as _he_ had many a time before. It was scary but it would not kill her, even if it felt otherwise at the moment.

He knew the facts, and he knew what he had to do, but no amount of cold logic or reasoning could drag him away from the distressed witch. Hermione curled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms, and he fought the urge to put his arms around her, knowing that even under different circumstances it would be poor help.

It seemed to last forever, but it was probably no more than ten minutes before the sobs subsided and breathing became easier. It was a few minutes more before she looked at him with a shocked expression that fully conveyed the bizarreness of the situation.

"Can I have my hand back?" he asked curtly, trying to keep his expression blank.

She looked from his face to the hand firmly clasped in hers. She was squeezing it so hard that her fingers were white, and he had lost all feeling in it for the past five minutes.

"Sorry," she mumbled, letting go and reaching for the wooden table next to her, using it to pull herself up. She almost lost her balance again, and it took all of Draco's strength not to reach out to her.

"Sit down, Granger," he sneered, leaning against a grandfather clock with his hands tucked into his pockets, where they could do no mischief of the sort that would further complicate an already delicate situation. "You look like you're about to topple over. Again. And I'm not catching you this time."

"Why did you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She glanced at the door, but seemed to think better of it and sat down on the sofa, hugging the discoloured pillow between her arms.

"Did what?"

"Catch me. The first time."

"Reflexes. The mark of a great seeker." He could've hit himself the minute he said it. This was no time for jokes. She was fine. Everything was fine. He had to leave.

Hermione snorted. "You're not funny, Malfoy."

No. But he could be. A little funny. "I am a man of hidden talents, Granger." He was also a man of hidden idiocy who needed to stop talking and start moving. To the immense chagrin of the part of him that still retained some common sense, he took out his wand instead and conjured a cup of steaming tea, handing it to the surprised witch.

"Hemlock?" she asked with a small smile, taking it anyway.

"Chamomile. To stave off another bout of hysterics." One snide remark for each act of kindness. That was sure to restore balance to the universe.

The witch ignored the jibe, however, either too tired to get sucked into an argument or utterly unsurprised by Draco Malfoy being unpleasant.

"Nonverbal conjuration," she said, taking a sip. "Impressive." It was an olive branch, and while he could not take it, he was also too tired to argue. He missed her. He was worried about her. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to touch her, move closer to her, put his arms around her. He compromised by pulling up a chair and sitting across from her, as far away from the witch as he could without seeming to be doing it on purpose.

"You aren't the only star pupil, Granger," he smirked. "I'll have you know I'm extremely smart."

"Ravenclaw smart," she commented absentmindedly, sipping the tea.

Draco froze. "What did you say?"

Hermione stared back at him, serious brown eyes that looked too big on her small face. "Nothing," she said quietly.

"Why are you here, Granger?" Why hadn't that been his first question? Hogwarts was too vast for it to be a coincidence. How had she ended up there of all places?

"That's no business of yours, Malfoy," she said quietly. Her hands were still shaking even as she held the mug, and her voice sounded far away and tired, but there was steel behind her eyes.

There were no coincidences. When she had gone to him before, he had assumed Potter had been running his mouth. But there was something else at play here. Something more. "I think differently."

_Legilimens._

_Pain and confusion. Memories half-remembered and thoughts that led nowhere. Lists of facts scribbled on a piece of parchment. Facts that did not fit together; a reality that did not exist. Butterfly kisses and wandering hands in a familiar living room. Spells in the night, and a small creature sobbing in the snow. Maddening thoughts that teased and prodded but never led anywhere._

Hermione gasped as Draco dug deeper into her mind, frustrated that he was good enough to cast the spell wordlessly, but not good enough to get a clear picture. And then suddenly the blueish hues of the memories turned a deep shade of red, and he tasted the metallic edge of blood as something hard and heavy hit him on the side of the face.

"Do not ever do that again!" Hermione was standing now, her shoulders shaking with rage. The mug had shattered when it hit the stone floor, sending shards of china flying, and Draco was covered in tea, but he was too shocked to even care. She could remember. Not everything. Not by a long shot. But she had some memories. How? He had been so careful. He had been so sure he had cast the spell properly.

"How is it possible?" he asked, unable to look away from the furious witch.

"You tell me," she said, crossing her arms in a pose that was maddeningly familiar. "It's your handiwork, is it not? You did this to me."

"What do you remember, Granger?" His father was in Azkaban, there was nothing she could remember that could hurt him further, but he would not allow any harm to come to his mother.

"Answer my questions and I will answer yours," Hermione said stubbornly, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

It didn't work like that. It couldn't work like that. He had to make sure that whatever she knew, whatever she may remember in the future, that she would be in no position to tell anyone else. What she knew was still enough to land him and his mother in hot water at a time when one step out of place would spell disaster for him and his family.

It never rained but it bloody poured.

Hermione flinched when he reached for his wand, tightening her fingers around her own. "Drying spell," he explained, ignoring the painful knot in his throat as he dried himself. She would be a fool not to be apprehensive, and Hermione was no fool.

His mind was blank as he searched for a solution. He had no stomach for another scene like the one at Hogsmeade Station, and it cost him nothing to admit it. Everywhere he turned, he could see loose threads and new complications, and he didn't know how to fix any of it. His whole life was upside down, and things kept unravelling faster than he could put them to rights.

There were too many balls up in the air, and he was no juggler.

And then it hit him. He didn't need to look very far for inspiration to fix this particular problem in a way that would keep his secrets safe without further harming Hermione. He only needed to emulate the upstanding example set by the adults in his life.

"Tell you what, Granger," he said, sitting down again. "I will tell you what you want to know. But what I have to say cannot travel any further."

"You have my word," she said as if she meant it, serious brown eyes locked with his. But it was not that simple. Gryffindors might be honourable, but some secrets were too big, and it was in a Slytherin's nature to leave nothing to chance.

"Not good enough," he said leaning forward, his arms resting on his legs. "I want assurances."

"What sort of assurances?" she asked with a frown.

"The Unbreakable Vow." He waited for a reaction, but Hermione was quiet for a few seconds. She did not seem surprised nor particularly shocked, only pensive.

"What is in it for you, Malfoy?" she asked finally.

His reasons were many and varied. He had selfish reasons and selfless reasons, and reasons she would not believe. There were reasons tied to the pain he had caused unknowingly and reasons for the blows he had dealt deliberately.

Regardless of why the spell had failed, her pain was his doing, and he would try to fix that if he could. Even if knowing was only a different sort of pain.

The things he had done paled in comparison to the things he still must do, but if he could right this one thing even a little, then he would.

She would not believe his reasons, even if he could find a way to explain them to her, so he replied with a version of the truth she would believe:

"I'm not saying there's anything worth knowing in that stuck up brain of yours, Granger," he sneered. "But for argument's sake, let's say there is. I won't have you running your mouth left and right with half-baked hypothesis cooked up by an over-active imagination."

"You don't care what I know, as long as I keep quiet about it," she summarised, seething.

For all her outrage, Draco was sure she could see the merit of the idea. "It's a generous offer, Granger."

"It's damage control, Malfoy."

"Maybe," he conceded with a shrug. "But it gets us both what we want. Worse deals have been made."

"And if I refuse?"

"You can, of course," he said nonchalantly. "But you and I both know that Memory Charms do not break. Not in any meaningful way. Not without enough Cruciatos to make you wish you didn't have a brain, let alone one capable of remembering anything at all. Maybe you'll remember in time, but I wouldn't hold my breath." And to drive the point home, he added: "Half-visions that reduce you to a sobbing mess whimpering in a corner are not memories worth having."

The witch's anger was almost a physical force in the room with them, but Hermione had always been remarkably restrained for a Gryffindor, and she kept her temper now.

"You have your deal, Malfoy," she said, straightening her back and glaring at him. "But I want assurances of my own. I will keep your secrets if you vow to the truth of what you have to say."

He stayed in the room long after she had left. His parting words had been a warning not to breathe a word of it to Potter or the deal was off, and she was welcome to her own little room in St. Mungo's, where she could piece together the shreds of memory at her leisure in between crying fits. There was a quiet dignity in the cold long stare she gave him before leaving, a silent reminder that she may be willing to make a pact with the devil, but she was not to be cowered by a snake.

Telling her would be the easy part: the recitation of a neat row of orderly facts that would explain the unexplainable and paint a sterile and sanitised picture of what had happened. He was equal to such a task.

No, what gave him pause even then was the possibility of the knowledge triggering the rest of her memories. Knowing was knowing, it shouldn't matter whether she could actually remember any of it. But it did matter.

Because if she truly came to remember, Hermione would hate him. When she remembered it all, she would hate him.

She hated him now, of course, but it was not the same. Now it was Granger hating Malfoy, an impersonal sort of hate that sprung out of _what_ they were, rather than _who_ they were. When she finally remembered, Hermione — _his_ Hermione — would hate _him_.

He jumped to his feet and marched out of the room, shaking off the mantle of self-pity that still hung heavy around his shoulders. Guilt, worry, pain, these were things that weighed him down and he had no use for them, so he tucked them away in a distant corner of his mind.

He needed a Bonder for the spell and he knew his choices were slim, and none particularly good.

He couldn't ask Snape. The professor in Severus would put a stop to it, while the Death Eater in him already knew more about Hermione than Draco was comfortable with.

Crabbe and Goyle weren't an option either. Even if either of them could pull off the spell — and Draco wasn't entirely sure that either could — they were an even more dangerous choice than the former Potions Master.

Snape's ambition was tempered by age and experience. He knew who he was and where he stood, and he didn't need to prove his worth either to the Dark Lord or to his fellow Death Eaters. Even if Aunt Bella thought differently.

Vincent and Gregory, on the other hand, still had something to prove. They still needed to carve a name for themselves and they wouldn't hesitate to do it at Draco's expense, should the opportunity present itself. Loyalty only stretched so far these days.

As for Pansy, while she was like a sister to him, he trusted her as much as he trusted anyone, which was to say not very much and not very often. She knew about Hermione, but that was all she knew, and it was never very safe to suggest the existence of secrets around Parkinson.

Going to her for help would mean questions. Questions he couldn't answer and questions he would rather not answer, and Pansy would be happy with neither. She would find her information elsewhere if she didn't get it from him, and he didn't want her asking the wrong questions to the wrong people.

No, what he needed was someone who didn't care enough to ask questions. Someone with secrets of their own.

And he knew just the person.

What had Pansy said? _You and Blaise are among the best and brightest Slytherin House has to offer, so why is it always Muggle-borns and blood traitors with you two?_

Blaise was smart enough to take precautions, but he was also arrogant enough to be careless, and by the following evening, Draco knew all he needed to know.

Though much as he would like to take credit for it, it certainly had helped that he was able to engage the assistance of one of Hogwarts's most unlikely spies. "The ginger one has freckles in the strangest places," giggled Myrtle, doing a somersault near the ceiling. "And the sounds he made when the tall, dark one put his—"

"Thanks, Myrtle, I get the gist of it," Draco interrupted before the ghost could elaborate on things Draco was perfectly happy being ignorant of. "Where are they?"

"Prefects' bathroom, on the fifth floor." She chuckled, apparently still very much picturing the scene she had left behind. "There are enchantments on the door to keep people away."

That wasn't a problem, as he had absolutely no intention of going in. There were enough nightmarish images inside his brain without needing to add to them the vision of a naked Weasley.

"Thank you very much, lovely lady," he said gallantly. "Your help has been inestimable."

"It was quite fun, really," she said with an uncharacteristic grin. "Who knew a mouth could be put to so many uses." And with that she burst into another fit of giggles, which had the advantage of allowing Draco to make his departure without the usual delays of repeated promises to return and visit often.

It didn't take him very long to get to the Prefects' bathroom. For once, all the staircases were lined just right, and no pathways decided to change halfway through his journey across the castle. No one could be unlucky all the time, not even him, and he was fairly sure the two boys were still where Myrtle had left them.

There was a large Gothic window on the other side of the corridor, across from the carved wooden door, and Draco made himself comfortable on the windowsill, hoping for — and rather expecting — a short wait. Unless he was a very poor judge of human character, Weasley did not strike him as the sort of guy who'd last very long.

But Gryffindors were nothing if not contrary, and almost an hour later, Draco was still waiting. He was bored, impatient, and starting to wonder whether there was another way out of the Prefects' bathroom. Of course, it was entirely possible that Blaise had suddenly come to his senses and decided he'd much rather drown Weasley in the giant bathtub. Seeing as that would foil his plans, Draco tried very hard not to wish for that particular outcome.

At long last, Blaise sauntered out of the room, hands in his pockets, without bothering to check if the coast was clear and without so much as noticing the fuming Slytherin sitting just a few feet away. Draco waited for the door to close behind his friend and, certain that no sound would reach the boy still inside the Prefects' bathroom, said in a clear voice:

"When did you get made a prefect, Zabini?" Even though it lasted only a second, the horrified expression on Blaise's face when he turned was almost worth the wait. "Because I know you're not a Quidditch Captain, and I'm fairly certain this is not what the founders meant by 'Head Boy'."

Quickly regaining his composure, Blaise chuckled, assuming an amused expression. "If I knew we had an audience," he said, walking up to Draco, "I'd have charged tickets."

"Is your friend coming out any time soon?"

"That's doubtful," Blaise scoffed.

"I meant out of there." Draco rolled his eyes, nodding at the door.

"I know what you meant," Blaise replied, leaning casually against the wall. "But I'm afraid I quite exhausted the poor fellow, so I don't believe he'll be making an appearance for quite some time."

"That's certainly disappointing." Draco yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Anyone I know?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow, casting his friend a suspicious look. "When did you start sharing Pansys's interest in idle gossip?"

"When I discovered I could profit from it." And just then, the door opened and Ron Weasley marched out, stopping suddenly in his tracks at the sight of Draco Malfoy. Draco couldn't have timed it better if he tried. "Had a nice, long bath, Weasley?" Draco taunted despite himself. His business was with Blaise; he had no time to waste on scum like Ronald Weasley. But some things were second nature.

Weasley's colour matched his hair, as a deep shade of red spread across his face all the way to the tip of his ears. The embarrassed Gryffindor seemed at a loss for what to do, so he reached for his wand, pointing it at Draco with a shaking hand.

"Scamper, Weasley," Blaise snarled. "I'll take care of this."

"But—"

"Bugger off, will you?" Blaise and Weasley locked eyes, the glare of the first meeting the scowl of the latter. For a moment, Draco thought the Gryffindor would stand his ground, but with a last venomous glare at both Draco and Blaise, he shoved his wand back into his pocket and stomped off.

Abandoning his previous attempts at casualness, Blaise glowered at Draco. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Nothing overly painful, I assure you," he said, getting up. "I need a Bonder for the Unbreakable Vow." And so that they understood each other, he added: "Someone whose discretion matches my own."

Blaise smirked. "The Unbreakable Vow. That's a bit drastic, isn't it? With whom?"

Draco saw no reason to lie. He would know soon enough. "Hermione Granger."

"The Mudblood?" Blaise sneered.

"Blood traitor is only one step up from Mudblood, Zabini." Knowing a warning when he heard one, Blaise dropped the issue.

They walked in silence for a few moments, no other sounds around but their steps echoing in the stone halls. Draco was the first to speak.

"I thought Weasley had a girlfriend," he remarked. He didn't even know why he knew this. He really was spending too much time with Pansy.

Blaise shrugged, replying unfazed: "He's trying to make a point."

"About girls?"

"About Slytherins." There was silence for a few more seconds, until Blaise added, "Of course, it might be a point better made if he weren't sucking my cock on a weekly basis."

* * *

The tower room looked different during the day. It was as if the assorted knickknacks and old furniture were just that, a harmless collection of discarded props from a different era. They were covered in dust and held nothing scarier than spiders, and maybe the occasional boggart tucked away in some dark and damp corner.

If there were still memories hiding somewhere in the battered wood and faded upholstery, they had all been chased away by daylight, and now it was just a room like any other in the castle: silent, still and void of memories that were always just out of reach.

Hermione marched into the centre of the room, daring her brain to start acting up. There would be no repetition of the scene from two days ago, she would make sure of that. She was determined. She was prepared.

Part of her was still not sure this was a good idea, however. In fact, part of her was quite certain that taking the Unbreakable Vow with Draco Malfoy, regardless of reason, was lunacy. Dangerous lunacy at that. And what good was information that she could not use?

But she needed answers and he could provide them, and that was good enough for the moment. She would deal with the after when she came to it. First, she needed to know.

She hadn't said a word about any of it to Harry, and not just because of Malfoy threatening to call off the deal if she did. Her friend would never have agreed to it, and while she didn't need his permission, she would have needed his complicity. So she said nothing, keeping her secrets closer than he deserved and closer than she would've liked.

She heard the footsteps before she saw the two boys approaching through the open door. For all her determination to stay calm, she couldn't help but tensing up at the sight of them. Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini: Slytherins, pure-bloods, and general tossers. This was such a terrible idea.

"Granger," Malfoy said by way of greeting as he walked in. She never got a chance to reply, because the moment Zabini approached the door frame, he was hurled backwards across the corridor, landing with a thud against the opposing wall.

All of them were so surprised that for a second no one moved, and then several things happened at once. Zabini fumbled for his wand, his face contorted into a grimace, and yelled a curse straight at Hermione. The astonished witch cast a Shield Charm on instinct, just as Draco Malfoy interposed himself between her and Zabini, casting a shield of his own. The other Slytherin's curse hit neither shield, however, being stopped at the door by whatever had prevented his entrance.

"I am going to kill that filthy little bitch," yelled the furious wizard, jumping to his feet.

"You will settle down, Zabini," Draco snarled with his wand still raised against his friend. "_Everyone_ will settle down," he repeated, looking from the other Slytherin to Hermione.

Her heart was racing in her chest, but she forced herself to lower her wand, mimicking Zabini's slow movement. The wizard's scowl was directed both at her and at Draco, but he deliberately put his wand away, stopping just outside the door to shake the dust off his robes.

"Let him in, Granger," Malfoy sighed, putting his own wand down.

"I did not stop him!" she said indignantly. "It wasn't my doing."

"There are wards around the room," Zabini observed, one of his hands tracing an invisible line midair.

"They're reacting to you." Malfoy walked up to her, standing closer than she would have liked. "They're your wards, and they're reacting to you. You will need to let him in."

She took a deep breath, looking around the room with fresh eyes. So they _were_ her wards after all. It was no surprise, then, that they had welcomed Blaise Zabini with such a reception. The only surprise was that they hadn't given the same treatment to Draco Malfoy. She clearly needed to work on her spellwork.

She forced herself to relax, focusing on her breathing. Magic wasn't just something they did, it was part of who they were. In a way — and though they didn't tend to think of themselves as such — wizards and witches were magical creatures, just like unicorns or house-elves. There was an instinctive quality to the most basic aspects of magic, and while its manifestation was mostly observed in children, who lacked the formal training to channel their powers in a more effective way, there was no amount of civilisation that could truly stop a human being, magical or otherwise, from being a creature of instinct.

"Come in," she told Zabini when she was sure the wards wouldn't repel him again. The wizard took a careful step forward, testing the willingness of the room to actually let him in. When nothing happened, he walked in all the way.

"No more wards for you to hide behind, Granger," he grinned wolfishly.

"Enough of that," Malfoy said impatiently. Though he was out of her line of sight, she could feel the warmth of his body on her back. "We have work to do. Blaise, shut the door."

* * *

**I am so sorry it took me so long to get a new chapter out. I usually aim to write a new chapter every week or at least every couple of weeks, but this time I blinked and almost a month had gone by! Bad Kel! I slacked for two weeks, almost died of the common cold on the third week (Disclaimer: 'almost dying' may be a bit of an overstatement...) and unexpectedly got sent to London on work on the fourth week. Now this last one actually turned out to be incredibly fun and I managed to get an afternoon to go and do the Harry Potter Studio Tour, which was beyond amazing! So, so much fun. I cannot wait to do it again! I spent a small fortune on the gift shop and I am still kicking myself for not getting a wand (they had replicas of the different characters' wands, and Hermione's was just sooooo cute).**

**I'll try to slack less with the next chapter, I promise!**

**About this chapter, I really struggled with the start. I may have written at least five different versions of it until I finally got it the way I wanted it. The section with Blaise was a lot of fun to write, though I feel like I always treat poor Ron quite terribly whenever he makes an appearance, which is a pity, cause I really do like Ron as a character. Sorry, Ron...**

**This particular chapter is dedicated to my beta Raistlin, to whom I still owe a Rabini one-shot. I'll do one eventually, cross my heart!**

**Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! ~Kel**


End file.
